


Kintsukuroi

by Valpur



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Mutants, Alternate Universe - X-Men Fusion, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Body Horror, Drug Use, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Human!zenyatta, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Mentions of Cancer, POV Multiple, Racism toward mutants, Self-Harm, Slow Burn, Smut, Suicide, Suicide Attempt, Werecree, background Reaper76 - Freeform, sorta - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-22
Updated: 2018-03-22
Packaged: 2019-03-28 16:19:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 16
Words: 127,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13907754
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Valpur/pseuds/Valpur
Summary: The Registration Act 619 had been a necessity – mutants had to be registered and examined by a federal board, and if found potentially dangerous for humans, tested.Hanzo had no idea what happened to those who didn’t pass the test, but Goldberg concern with some citizens disappearing after the procedure made his sixth sense tickle in the wrong way.Genji was another story. Of course, no one would have publicly held his existence against their father, but there would have been rumors. Gossips, cracks in the foundations of the empire Sojiro Shimada and his father before him had built in the years.A mutant son was a dishonor that would have destroyed the good name of the family.Onemutant son was more than enough.





	1. Broken Wings

**Author's Note:**

> Hello beautiful people!
> 
> This is my story for the [McHanzo Big Bang](http://mcbigbang.tumblr.com), and let me tell you, it's been a wild ride. I've been paired with the most amazing artist ever, Diefuss, whose work you can find [here](https://diefuss.tumblr.com/) and in some of the chapters. I couldn't be happier of the assignment, I loved working with her! She made the scenes so much more colorful and emotional, and damn, I'm blessed with a great partner in crime!
> 
> Check out her Big Bang art! Beware of the spoilers, tho :3  
> [Ch. 1](https://diefuss.tumblr.com/post/172128670490/and-so-it-begins-valpur-s-n-my-turn-to-publish)  
> [Ch. 2](https://diefuss.tumblr.com/post/172133066730/woop-woop-and-the-next-one-for-mcbigbang-again)  
> [Ch. 4](https://diefuss.tumblr.com/post/172137181250/ok-we-are-getting-close-to-the-actual-fluff)   
> [Ch. 10](https://diefuss.tumblr.com/tagged/chapter10)  
> 

 

[Broken wings](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1xICZAQ7GBQ)

 

 

_“… need to discuss the issue with your father, but he’s becoming increasingly difficult to reach”._

The croaking from the phone echoed in the tiled, shiny confines of the bathroom.

“As I’ve told you before, my father is busy at the moment and in no condition to see to your political necessities”. Hanzo Shimada’s voice was cold and steady. His hands were not.

“ _I know, but the latest leaked news on the Registration Act 619 is worrying – and it’s an understatement. If we could count on the support of your family we…”_

A snap, a thick trail descending warm down his back. Hanzo shook his head and shivered, careful not to look at his own reflection in the mirror. The room smelled like blood and sweat, his fingers wrapped around the handles of the shears ached. Nothing compared to the throbbing pain from the two slashes on his shoulder blades.

“Senator, I’ve been rather clear, I think”, he said after a long breath. “The Shimadas have nothing to do with mutants, and are not inclined to lend their voice to your political campaign”.

_“Hanzo, my boy, I’ve been a friend of Sojiro’s for thirty years and I know about Genji. Your father owes me this, at least!”_

_Snap_.

Hanzo gritted his teeth as the blades sunk into skin and flesh, severing the stub of bone protruding from his back. Its twin lay on the floor in a crimson pool.

The well-known suffering choked him. He panted in silence, shaking wildly and forcing back tears from his eyes. Almost done, and the last thing he needed was a corrupted politician with a disappearing mutants scandal bothering him.

“Goldberg”, he hissed, and fuck, he sounded like a wounded animal.

_Isn’t that what I am, after all?_

He cleared his throat and let his arms fall to his sides.

“My father can’t receive you right now, and the situation won’t change for some time”.

A sigh floated from the phone, and senator Goldberg subsided.

_“Fine. But don’t you think I’m not aware of Sojiro’s health issues; I’ll keep my mouth shut, but your company wouldn’t benefit from any gossip about its president”._

“Are you trying to blackmail me?” he snarled, pushing a strand of sweaty hair from his forehead. A moment of silence, and then a low chuckle.

_“No, kid. I’m just being real. We could use each other’s help, and…”_

“This conversation is over. Please contact my father’s assistant if you require further communication”, and he pressed the red button on his phone.

The bloody fingerprint sparkled over the bright screen, and when the light went out it disappeared.

The same could not be said of the mess around his feet.

Hanzo bit his lip and swallowed a lump of anguish and sheer pain. He was almost done – again.

He counted to three, and his hands clutched on the shears. One last snip, and the strip of skin gave way, letting the slender appendage fall to the ground with a wet thud. He didn’t last on his feet much longer; with a sob he sunk to his knees, shaking wildly.

Ten years ago he’d have cried and spent hours in that bathroom, waiting until the blood had stopped running and cursing the damaged genetics that had made him such a freak. Now he had no time for such nonsense: he had business to do, too important to be ignored in favor of his own self-commiseration.

It only took him a minute to accept the suffering and regain his composure; with swift gestures, he flushed the stumps down the toilet and grabbed a towel. There was blood everywhere – scarlet droplets on the sink, handprints on the white ceramic and all over his naked body. He quickly cleaned the mess, careful not to leave a single trace, and threw the towel into the washing machine. Chlorine, the chemical smell erasing the sweet, metallic scent of his own wounds, would have done the rest.

When he finally spared his reflection a look, though, it was as horrible as the first time.

Hanzo Shimada, heir to the most important communications company in the world, was a mistake and a fraud. A sharp face, deadly pale and streaked with tears and sweat, stared back at him, long hair sticking to his cheeks and bloodshot eyes full of guilt. He’d been a teen when it’d became clear that he was not like he was supposed to be, with those bone spikes growing insistently from his shoulder blades he’d been amputating every month (and lately every week, a change in the growth of his deformity that shocked him). In the last two years, a fine pattern of marks had grown on his left arm, tiny blue scales speckling his biceps and shoulder; it was easy to hide them under his rigorous white button-downs, but the stumps were another world.

He shook his head and stumbled to the shower, shivering when the cold water washed over the two large slashes. Pink trickles dissolved in a pale vortex around his feet, and he stood motionless until the water ran clear again. As usual, the wounds healed faster than it was human – or acceptable – and he found no solace when the pain disappeared. He leaned against the wall, forehead pressed on the cold tiles and fists clenched. He punched the slippery surface once, hard enough to send a shock up his arm; had he been younger and even more desperate he’d have insisted, but he knew all too well what would have happened – how the bruises would shrink and fade under his eyes, how the scratches would vanish in a heartbeat.

He was a freak, a mutant in a place where mutants were not welcome. A shame to his own name, something to hide from the world.

Hanzo growled a curse and stood up, hitting the faucet with the palm of his hand. When he walked back to the mirror, he was himself again, or at least a presentable version of his public self. He rolled his long hair on his shoulder and sighed, wrapping himself in a soft bathrobe before running an unsteady hand down his face.

Soon this gore routine would become a daily task, not much different from shaving or brushing his teeth, only a thousand times more painful.

_Still better than being a monster in the eyes of the public opinion, or one to be kept hidden and forgotten._

A knock on the door startled him. He snapped his head up and turned around, the furious heartbeat in stark contrast with the cold tone of his voice.

“Yes?”

“Mister Shimada? I’m sorry to bother you, but we have an emergency”.

One of his bodyguards. Not that he really needed any, being fitter and more built than most of them, but it was a necessity he’d accepted since his childhood.

A quick trail of pictures flashed in his head – was his father ill again? Or Genji…

“What happened?” He forced out, his hand clenching on the sink.

“Your brother, mister Shimada. He’s missing again”.

Hanzo closed his eyes and growled under his breath. Genji indeed, and he should have known it; he’d been quiet for weeks, it was only a matter of time.

“I understand. Give me a minute”. He was sure the man outside of the bathroom was still there, and he quickly put his clothes on – black, formal, a mask he couldn’t live without.

He was not surprised, more angry and horrified. Genji had no trace of common sense or respect, and he’d been so since he was a kid. A lithe, lively kid with the most horrible of secrets, one they shared.

Hanzo opened the door and didn’t even look at the massive man in dark shades and earpiece on the threshold, walking stiffly down the luxurious marble of the corridor.

“Tell me”.

“He’s gone, sir”. The bodyguard had to hurry to keep up with Hanzo’s pace, and he didn’t slow down to help him. “We tracked him downtown, but he’s refusing to cooperate. He’s… making quite the scene”, he concluded with a note of embarrassment.

Hanzo narrowed his eyes and rolled his shoulders, even if the itch he still felt was more in his mind than a real issue.

“We… we tried to take him back but it hasn’t worked, and he may have mentioned his name in public”, the man added in a small voice. Hanzo stopped abruptly and turned around, shooting him a killing look.

“You didn’t stop him”, he hissed.

“I’m sorry, sir, we tried but… but…”

An exasperated sigh escaped his lips. He pinched the bridge of his nose between his fingers and swallowed the impulse to punch the man in the face.

“Very well, I’ll take the matter in my hands. Have my car ready, and make sure my father hears nothing of this issue. I don’t want to trouble him when it’s not necessary”.

Five minutes and a quick ride on the crystal elevator later, Hanzo was sitting in the back of the blue sedan. The lights of San Angeles, the huge metropolitan area that had swallowed half of California, were a blur of orange and blinding white out of the windows. It didn’t help the headache blooming behind his eyes.

It wasn’t the first time and it wasn’t going to be the last – _unless I find the strength to do the right thing once and for all._

The landscape shifted from tall skyscrapers, shining in the night in steel and mirrors, to the neons of the dark buildings of the sprawl. How obvious of Genji: not only he’d escaped the Shimada’s security, but he opted once more for the most offensive slap in their father’s face.

The car came to a halt in front of a study block of concrete covered in graffiti; even in the sheltered cocoon of the vehicle, the booming of music made the seat vibrate under Hanzo’s legs.

It was gross – the people drinking and making out in front of the entrance, a revolting mixture of humans and mutants; the pink and green banner yelling its name, “The Dragon’s Lair”.

_Appropriate_ , he thought with a disgruntled grin.

Hanzo leaned forward and tapped on the glass dividing him from the driver. It opened with a dry sound, and the bodyguard on the passenger’s seat turned around.

“Drive to the back and find a way to take him out”, he ordered curtly.

He expected to be obeyed, and so it was. The door opened and closed, and for long minutes Hanzo was left alone with the constant company of his own self-hatred.

Genji was not supposed to be out of the mansion, or to be throwing his own name in a crowded club – he was dead for a good part of the world. If lucky assisted them, everyone would have been drunk or high enough to ignore him. If not…

Goldberg’s words on the Registration Act 619 rang again in his ears, a faraway threat that looked more like a solution with every passing day. His heart stung at the thought, but years of self-control smothered the pain.

A slam from the building drew him from his pondering. Hanzo sat up straight and moved to the other side of the seat. The door opened again to show the least unexpected of sights.

The bodyguard was carrying a limp, blabbering man; his attempts at wrestling the bulky arms around him were pathetic, his long limbs too uncoordinated to be of any use.

“… lemme go, I’m a Shimada, you can’t…”

“Genji, for heaven’s sake, get in now!” Hanzo urged his man forward, and with some struggle the alcohol-smelling shape was thrown on the seat. Genji’s big wings got stuck in the door, and Hanzo pulled his brother forward with little courtesy.

He was a disaster. At 23, Genji Shimada could no way pass for human, and did nothing to hide his condition. His wings were so cumbersome they barely fit in the back of the car, and the tiny scales painting his cheekbones and neck were the same bright green as his recently dyed hair.

Hanzo shrunk away from him – or, to be completely honest, from himself. They shared the same curse, but he was really good at hiding it from everyone, including their father.

“You reek”, he deadpanned, scrunching his nose. Genji slowly slid on the seat, his white jacket all crumpled and stained of something that smelled like a disgustingly sweet cocktail.

“Love you too, _anija_ ”, he chuckled. There were dark streaks on his cheek, where his eyeliner had melted after a night of immoderation, and the marks of hickeys and lipstick on his throat.

“Shut up. I’m shocked you could be so irresponsible, is it true you went throwing your name around?”

“M-hm”, he muttered; he leaned his forehead to the front seat and let his arms fall to his sides. “I’m your brother, remember?”

“All too well. Genji, what is this folly? You know how dangerous it is, how…”

“How I’m s’posed to shut up and play Rapunzel at home, right? Fuck off”. His voice, rough with smoke and booze, died in a wheeze, and he tried to slap his brother. He missed, and Hanzo didn’t even have to move to avoid him.

“I’m disappointed in you, brother. What will father say when…”

“Well why should he know?” he snapped, raising on Hanzo two dark eyes full of defying and anger. “Unless the Favorite, Irreprehensible Son will go and… and…”

A strangled sound interrupted him. He doubled over and pressed a hand to his mouth; Hanzo rolled his eyes and bared his teeth.

“Please, spare yourself this further humiliation. Tell me you’re not going to…”

Throw up.

Genji retched, and as the car darted on the trafficked streets the unavoidable results of his night out splashed on the seat. With every cough, his wings fluttered, and Hanzo swatted away the one that brushed his shoulder. They disgusted him even more than the vomit soaking the car.

“Look at you. I can’t believe you reached a new low”, he grunted. But Genji kept on being sick for longer than he’d expected, and after a while, some brotherly love filtered through his fury.

He waited for the retching to subside a bit and then reached forward, putting a hand on Genji’s shoulder.

His brother didn’t flinch, only panted painfully, a trail of drool descending from his slack lower lip.

“Hey, Genji… are you alright?” he asked softly, and eventually Genji nodded. When the car took a sharp turn, Hanzo had to hold him upright, and by now he didn’t even care if his own clothes were going to be soiled too.

“Yeah. Sorta”, he rasped. He fell back on the seat and threw his head against the headrest, and for a short, heart-breaking moment his silhouette against the dark window looked _normal_. No scales or wings, no taint – just his little brother, the one Hanzo used to read bedtime stories to when they were kids, before Genji had turned into a rebel teen and, later, a desperate young man. Before himself had realized he was no different, only stubborn and mature enough to choose his own suffering over that of his family.

Hanzo sighed and shook his head, and in a minute Genji started to snore softly, lulled by the buzzing of the engine. He spent the drive back home staring at his brother with a painful mixture of rage and sadness.

_We can’t keep going like this. I must find the courage to do what’s best for all of us._

His vision blurred, and he blinked the unwanted wave of anguish away.

_Even if it will break my heart._

Twenty minutes later the Shimada Tower greeted them with its uncountable black windows. Not even their father’s room, up on the highest floor, was lit; it was really late.

Hanzo dismissed the bodyguards by the elevator; they were experienced enough not to question his request, or to ask him if he needed help carrying Genji up to his apartment.

Luckily, by the time they reached the thirteenth floor where both their quarters were, Genji had sobered enough not to fall if left leaning against the wall, and he even managed to stumble inside once Hanzo opened the door.

“Try not to vomit again”, he said, turning on the lights as soon as his brother collapsed on the black leather sofa. Under the white lights the apartment, identical to Hanzo’s in shape and size, a whole world of technology blinked to him. The huge flat screen tv, the gaming set scattered on a wide desktop, the collection of action figures and holograms on the shelves – everything spoke of a life of captivity forcibly filled with interests. For the umpteenth time, Hanzo marveled that Genji had not yet gone insane.

With a sigh, Hanzo turned to the slumped form of his brother; his green wings protruded from two cuts on his jacket, and one was splayed on the crystal coffee table, among a collection of cigarette butts and empty cans of energy drinks. Genji breathed loudly, his face pressed against the cushions.

“How much did you have?” Hanzo walked to the sofa and crouched by the armrest. Genji didn’t answer, but with a shapeless wave of his hand; he rolled on his back and covered his face with an arm.

Cursing under his breath, Hanzo swatted it away and grabbed Genji’s face in a brutal grip; he ignored the muttered protests and pried open his left eye with his fingers.

The pupil was a pinpoint, the sclera painted red by thin veins.

“Genji, _what_ did you take? Aside from two bottles of vodka… was it synhtocoke?”

“Get off me”. Genji struggled and kicked weakly; Hanzo let go of him and stood up, lips pressed in a strict line.

“You could have better. Had you just asked, I could have found you some real cocaine; at least you would have known what you were…”

“I don’t give a fuck about your fucking stuff!” he cried out. The look he shot Hanzo was beyond rage and confusion – it was broken, and it hurt. “I don’t want your fancy attentions or… or anything from you!”

“I can’t believe you were in such a disgraced state you went around saying you are a Shimada. What would father say?”

“I don’t know, why don’t you ask him?”

“Because he’s troubled enough without having to worry about his son being a complete fool”, he growled. The skin on his back tickled again and he rolled his shoulders. “How many time have we had this same conversation? You’re not supposed to go out like that”.

“Yeah, sure”. Genji looked away from Hanzo. His eyes went from unfocused to shiny in a second. “I’m supposed to stay here and pretend to be dead”.

“Don’t say so! You know why our father had to make this decision, and it haunts him more than it…”

“I only wanted to be alive. To be myself”. A whisper, low and husky. “I can’t go on like this”.

_No, you can’t. And I can’t either – it’s been too much and too long for all of us._

The broken tone deflated Hanzo’s scorn. He sat by his brother’s side and his cold expression melted into a crooked smile.

“I wish things were different”, he said, brushing the sweaty hair from Genji’s forehead.

“I wish _I_ was different. I wish I was you”.

The pure bitterness of that confession cracked a line in Hanzo’s heart. He closed his eyes and his fingers shook on Genji’s head; it took him a solid minute to find his voice again.

“It’s pointless to discuss this. Now rest, tomorrow father will want to see you”. He stood up and smoothed the wrinkles on the front of his shirt. “Do you need my assistance? You should take a shower, or…” A sad chuckle vibrated at the bottom of his throat. “Remember the stories I read to you when we were kids? You liked that one about the dragons, and if you…”

Genji frowned and closed his eyes. Suddenly his pale face looked hard, the green scales shiny and alien on his skin.

“Leave me”, he snapped. “Now”.

To this, Hanzo had no further answer. He lowered his eyes – a gesture he wouldn’t have allowed anyone to witness – and straightened his back.

“Pull yourself together, brother, and good night”, he spat out before turning on his heels and marching away. As the door closed behind him, he was sure he heard a broken sob coming from the room, and his heart bled some more.

The Shimada Tower was never empty or silent, but in that dead moment of night, it was quiet. Only a few yellow lights punctuated the long corridor, golden sparks shining on the black marble of the floor and on the Japanese prints on the walls. Hanzo walked slowly, his wide shoulders hunched and his head low; in nights like this, he felt old and tired of everything, and for once he blessed the loneliness of his life, as it allowed him to be vulnerable far from indiscreet eyes.

Thirteen years of imprisonment, and Genji’s only crime was being a mutant. Oh, yes, the world as changed from the days of Xavier and Magneto – now mutants were everywhere, under the eyes of the crowd that still feared them and looked at them with distrust and concern. They were not monsters, that was what decades of propaganda had managed to convince people of, but the truth was that they could be dangerous, they could be weapons. And just like weapons, they had to be monitored.

The Registration Act 619 had been a necessity – mutants had to be registered and examined by a federal board, and if found potentially dangerous for humans, tested.

Hanzo had no idea what happened to those who didn’t pass the test, but Goldberg’s concern with some citizens disappearing after the procedure made his sixth sense tickle in the wrongest way.

He turned left and walked by the immense windows, in front of a landscape all orange sky and city lights.

Genji was another story. Of course, no one would have publicly held his existence against their father, but there would have been voices. Gossips, cracks in the foundations of the empire Sojiro Shimada and his father before him had built in the years. A mutant son was a dishonor that would have destroyed the good name of the family.

One mutant son was more than enough.

Hanzo ran a hand over his shoulder blade. No, they were gone, and such they would be for days now.

He stopped in front of the white door to his apartment and placed his hand on the pad on the wall, a sloppy, exhausted gesture unworthy of a man of his composure.

The door slid open with a whisper, and when he stepped into the rigorous order of his rooms welcomed him. Books sorted by genre, author, title and year were neatly stacked on the vast library; an aquarium shone blue in a corner, its inhabitants unaware of their owner’s troubles, happy to just swim back and forth and to stare blankly at the world with their small vacant eyes.

Hanzo took his shoes off and left them at the entrance, and for all his fatigue he knew he could not sleep if he tried. He sat on the floor, his back against the door, and took his head in his hands.

There’d been no registration for Genji, no test. He’d been a kid of ten when his wings had started to grow, and their father had spent nights awake in his office, talking to the last picture he’d taken of their mother. She hadn’t lived enough to hold her second child, and Hanzo barely remembered her – he’d been but three at the time – but his father had loved her dearly, and even now he turned to her in his (many and more and more frequent) hard times. Like that time, when he’d decided that his younger son, his dear boy, his sparrow would have been better confined in their mansion than prodded and tested and under the limelight. Genji Shimada died for the world at ten, and in one of the aseptic cemeteries at the borders of San Angeles was an empty white tomb with the picture of a smiling boy with unruly hair and a dimple on his cheek.

_I can’t go on like this_ , had said Genji but minutes before, and he was right. Hanzo took his jacket off and slid two fingers under his tie, loosening it.

Not many knew about Genji’s existence, and the bodyguards and staff of the Shimada Tower were beyond trusted. His father paid them enough to secure their loyalty, and the few who’s dared betray their word had faced the most terrible of punishment: the wrath of a usually calm man. A man with lots of money, lots of friends and little patience when his family’s security was involved.

Senator Alan Goldberg was a different story. He was probably the only one outside the family and staff who knew Sojiro’s secret, and yet he’d never used that against his father. He claimed they were friends, but Hanzo suspected there was something else, and such something smelled of blackmail. He didn’t know and didn’t want to.

But Goldberg had been insistent. As one of the promoters of the Registration Act 619, he repeated many times that Genji had to be acknowledged and checked; he’d even seen him once, and he’d reassured Sojiro that there was no reason he shouldn’t have passed the inspection. Sure, he was weird, but despite his wings and the tiny fangs in place of his canines he didn’t look really dangerous.

And maybe the senator was right. Hadn’t it been for their father’s reputation, Hanzo had have insisted too.

He ran his palms on his face and worried slip in a last attempt to stifle a roar of exasperation.

The more he considered his situation, the more it became clear that he never had a choice. He didn’t get to choose his high school or university, didn’t get to pick a normal life. He had to be the serious, responsible one – the normal son, the acceptable heir to parade around with a proud grin.

The thought of his father reaction to Hanzo’s secret was the usual punch in the stomach. It emptied his lungs of air and his body of force, and he slumped forward, arms resting on his knees and head hidden in the crook of his elbows.

It was worth the excruciating pain of periodic amputations and the suffocating burden of pretending to be different from what he was.

_Probably_.

That single word rang in his head and rolled through his bones. Hanzo gasped and opened his eyes wide, his heartbeat quick in his ears.

_Of course it’s worth it, what am I thinking? I’m too deep into this situation, there’s no point in regretting it or trying to pull myself out. I’m just tired and I should get some sleep._

Standing up cost him his residual energies. He walked to his bedroom, and on his way, he stopped by the small cupboard under the aquarium; a school of cardinalfish passed in front of him and brusquely changed direction in a fit of panic, immediately forgetting what had scared them and going back to their routine. Hanzo didn’t look at them and took a bottle from the compartment under the tank, a crystal flask full of liquid amber. He looked at it for a moment, brow furrowed and eyes too tired to focus.

No, it was not a good idea. No matter how much he would have liked to drink himself into a stupor: his nose was still full of Genji’s stink of alcohol and vomit. He was a better man.

He put the bottle back and dragged himself to his bedroom, ready for another sleepless night.

“I’m sorry, father. I know I’ve disappointed you, but…”

Genji’s voice was rough with hangover and lack of sleep. He’d removed his black shades and now his eyes, cast on the floor, sparkled, red and puffy, in his pale face. He looked so painfully young and tired Hanzo couldn’t look at him.

“Hush now, my boy. It’s alright, I know this life can be difficult for someone like you, but you’re doing your best”. Sojiro Shimada stood up from his chair with a grimace – one he’d only let his sons witness – and walked around his crystal desk. A little older than sixty, the man had short grey hair and Hanzo’s austere cheekbones; both his children, though, sported their mother’s eyes. He walked slowly to Genji and put a gentle hand on his shoulder, giving it a squeeze. “You look exhausted, little sparrow. Why don’t you go and get some rest? You had a troubled night”.

Genji seemed unable to look straight at his father, and only nodded. The gentle smile on Sojiro’s stern face made something clench in Hanzo’s chest.

It had always been like this. Even before the failure of his DNA had been evident, Genji had been the favorite child, the one his father looked at with unfaltering affection, who got every mistake forgiven with a smile and a caress. After his reclusion, it had been even more so, Sojiro’s guilt adding up to his love for his younger son. Hanzo had been a whole different story, and once again his stomach contracted with a painful mixture of anger and love; he rolled his hands into fists and looked away from his family, out of the view of San Angeles under a dull blue sky.

“Is there anything I can do to make you happy, Genji? You know you only need to ask”.

His brother’s thoughts were so loud Hanzo could have sworn they rang in the aseptic office.

_Let me go._

“No, father. I… I’ll try to keep myself busy for now. I didn’t want to cause any trouble”.

A deep sigh shook Sojiro’s shoulders.

“Of course you didn’t. I remember what being young means, and I know I’m asking you so much…”

_No, you know nothing! Genji went downtown and said out loud he was a Shimada, and it was only out of good luck if he was too drunk and high to be deemed sincere!_ Hanzo gritted his teeth and swallowed the furious reply. He’d never had a right to such benevolence – only duty, for him.

“Anyway, we will think of some way to make you leave the house's safety, but for now you should…”

The gentle ring from the desk interrupted him.

“Mister Shimada? Senator Goldberg is here”.

Sojiro tensed at once and his hand dropped from Genji’s shoulder.

“Did he tell you what he wants, Clara?”

“No, sir, but he’s being quite insistent. He says he’s been trying to contact you for two days and…”

“Five minutes and you can send him in”, he said curtly. No reply from his secretary, but it was not needed. The mask of the loving father reappeared for a second as he turned to Genji. “You should go, now”.

“Goldberg knows about me, what’s the point in…”

“Genji. Go”, he repeated, and steel sparkled in his voice. Genji clenched his jaws and a muscle twitched on his cheek, but didn’t protest further; he turned his back to the room and walked to the door, where one of his bodyguards was waiting for him. Before he disappeared into the corridor, Hanzo met his eyes.

He resented him, he knew it – his freedom, his position – but he ignored so many things…

_I miss the times when we were kids and the world was ours to explore. I may be free to come and go as father bids me, but you’re free to be yourself._

The door closed with a hiss of metal, and Hanzo shivered to recollect himself. He’d said it the night before – questioning the past was pointless, and he had no time to indulge in such fantasies; he turned to look at his father, and he discovered he’d taken his seat behind the desk. Behind his back there was a huge, original painting of two dragons – one green, one blue, coiled together and looking down at Hanzo with fiery eyes.

As usual, their sight filled him with anger, but it was another thing he had to ignore. His father sighed again and Hanzo was quick to run at his side. Sojiro was not the man he used to be, not after the death of his beloved wife, the tragedy of a mutant son and a cancer he’d been battling for three years. Still, money could buy many things, including the most advanced health care that allowed him to be head of the corporation.

“Hanzo, did Goldberg try to contact you?” he asked, and the moment of weakness was gone.

“Yes. Last night, at a very late hour”.

“Did he tell you what he wanted?” There was no trace of the affection he’d shown Genji, only the practical necessities of the moment.

“He was worried about the application of the Registration Act, and…”

“I see. I want you to listen, but don’t speak unless you’re asked to do so”.

Hanzo schooled his face to a neutral expression, but his blood was boiling, the scales on his shoulder itching. He wanted to scream that he was not a child anymore, that he wouldn’t accept to be treated as such, but he was not in the position to throw a tantrum; he only nodded and straightened his back, waiting for their guest.

Senator Goldberg didn’t make them wait. The door opened again to reveal a short man in a gray suit, his round face and bald head somehow intimidating due to a pair of piercing blue eyes.

“At last, old friend! You’ve been strikingly hard to reach these days”, he said with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. Sojiro didn’t stand, but held out his hand to be shaken.

“The development of the next holographic glasses is time-consuming. Please, take a seat”.

“Hanzo, good morning to you”. As he sat on one of the black leather chairs his gaze lingered a moment too long on Hanzo, who nodded without smiling.

“Senator”.

“Tell me then, what brings you to my office?” Sojiro joined his fingertips in a peak in front of his face. Down to business as always. Goldberg took a deep breath and squirmed in his seat.

“As I mentioned to your son during our last call, I could use a friend in this moment. We are having… issues. With the…”

“… Registration Act 619, I know. Care to articulate?”

“Yes, sure. Er… I’ve got some journalists on my back. Looks like they think some of the mutants disappeared after taking their test, and of course this is preposterous, because…”

“Are they gone for real?” Sojiro interrupted the senator without losing the polite smile on his lips.

“How should I know? After they take the test they can go wherever they please, I’m not their guardian!” He opened his arms and shook his head. “I want to prove to the world that the procedure is safe, and only intended for the wellbeing of mutants. Which brings us to…”

“No”.

“But you didn’t even let me…”

Sojiro stood up, and for a second Hanzo perceived the aura of authority radiating from his father. He was not young anymore, and was sick more often than not, but even he couldn’t bear such a ruthless stare.

“I won’t lend you my son for your political campaign”.

“Sojiro, don’t rush things. Just… just listen to me, alright? I’ve been thinking this for a long time, and I’m sure the solution would benefit us all”.

“Genji is not your puppet, he’s dead for the world and such he will stay”.

“Is he happy?”

Three little words that erased any insecurity from Goldberg’s tone. Hanzo inhaled sharply but didn’t move, and his father narrowed his eyes.  
  
“What do you mean?”

Goldberg shrugged and cocked an eyebrow.

“Exactly what I said – and it looks like you’re avoiding my question”.

“A question you have no right to ask”. Sojiro sat down and the leather creaked under his legs. “My son is living the best life I can provide, and I doubt anyone could offer a better one”.

“See, Genji’s only 23, of course he wants something more than living a Rapunzel’s life for the next decades. And I think I could help with that”.

“You come to my house and expect me to listen as you lecture me how to take care of my family? Be grateful I consider you my friend, Alan, or…”

Goldberg ignored him and waved his hand.

“Let him take the test. No one will know he’s your son, and you know how discreet I can be; there’s no reason to think he wouldn’t pass it, and then… well, he’d be free. I bet he’d thank me for this”.

“As I said, you can’t borrow my son to parade him around and show your problems aren’t real. Find another way to sort this out”.

“You don’t want the world to know the Shimadas sport a mutant in their ranks”.

It was a fortuity, but Goldberg’s pale eyes went to Hanzo. He silently prayed his face was as impassable as ever, but he could feel a droplet of sweat roll down his back.

“You are stating the obvious. If you have nothing relevant to add I suggest you…”

“Hanzo, you’ve been very quiet. What do you think?”

“It’s my father you are talking to. And I take this meeting is over”. He looked at his father, who met his statement with a quick nod. A bubble of satisfaction swelled in Hanzo’s stomach – he’d done the right thing and his father approved.

“I know you love Genji very much. You two have always been so close, and if there’s someone who knows how much he suffers his cage it’s you, boy. Look me in the eyes and tell me he’d prefer to be kept imprisoned for years to a free life”.

He tried to do so – to bear the cold gaze digging through his mind – but something was stirring inside him. In the end, he turned to his father.

“I’m not one to decide, so please don’t count me in this matter”.

“Alan, enough. Will you leave me alone if I’d say I’ll consider this?”

Goldberg pushed his chair back and got to his feet, brushing an invisible particle of dust from his jacket.

“Only if you promise you’ll do so. I hope we can work this out together, Sojiro”.

“Hanzo, please escort the senator to the door”. It was the tombstone to their conversation, and despite the sting of annoyance – he was not his personal assistant, after all – Hanzo did as he was asked. By the door, the senator gave him a side look.

“I know you’ll think about my words, Hanzo. And you’ll find out what the right thing is”. He didn’t smile, and soon his footsteps faded in the distance.

Hanzo looked at the small, plump shape for a moment.

_The right thing._

_Is he happy?_

_He’d be free._

He kept his head low as he walked back to his father’s side, but a soft sigh stopped him in the middle of the office.

“Hanzo, sit down”.

He frowned at the tone – the one Sojiro always used with Genji, never with him – but promptly obeyed.

Seeing his father so troubled was hard, and the surge of pride and love he felt for the man who’d raised him to be the person he was canceled any trace of envy and resentment.

“I need you to be honest, son. Tell me: do you know why I didn’t answer Goldberg’s question about Genji?”

Hanzo clasped his hands in his lap and pursed his lips. Hiding the truth was useless.

“Yes”, he whispered.

“And?”

“Genji is not happy, and we both know this”.

Sojiro leaned back in his chair and looked up to the ceiling. In doing so, his eyes rested for a second on the picture on his desk – his wife, Hanzo’s and Genji’s mother. A smiling woman, with pretty dark eyes and a sharp smile.

“I wasn’t lying. I will consider Alan’s idea – not that I like it, because I’m not going to get involved with his political agenda, but still…”

He didn’t finish his sentence, and Hanzo worried his lip.

He’d never seen his father so vulnerable and doubtful, and it scared him.

“It is possible that I will never grow old, and you’re conscious of this, my son. Maybe someday your brother’s destiny will lie in your hands”. Sojiro lowered his head, and under his black eyes, Hanzo felt like a child again. Too small to understand the burden that was being laid on his shoulders, too eager for his father’s approval to show how much it weighed on his soul. But in the end, his father smiled. “I know you’ll make the best decision”.

It took him ten days to make up his mind.

Hanzo’s fist hit the punching bag with a muffled thud. He lifted his knee and kicked high, missing the chain holding the bag in place by inches, and then threw another punch – harder, enough to make his knuckles burn and his whole arm vibrate with tension. He preferred target practice, but he was not in the right state of mind for it.

Ten days of calls from Goldberg and nights spent looking at the ceiling, as the best decision formed in his mind.

With a snarl, he stepped back and brushed away the black lock escaping from his ponytail. Sweat trailed down his back and beaded on his forehead, and the hoodie he was wearing was damp between his shoulders. He breathed out his fatigue and kicked again, but with every hit, his tension worsened.

Ten days to make that call, and now the waiting was almost over.

The delighted tone of the senator rang in his ears, and rage inflamed his muscles. The rhythm of his attacks grew more frantic, and a deep growl trembled underneath his ribcage.

“Did that poor thing offend you somehow?”

Hanzo jumped and turned around, eyes wide and face burning; Genji was waiting by the door, a towel slung across his neck and a smirk on his lips. He walked in and stretched, spreading his wings with a moan.

The gym was their place, one of the few no one was allowed to attend but the two of them. A secret basement with an entrance known only to the Shimadas – for now.

“Why did you want to see me, by the way? I hate training in the morning, I was up until 3 am to play League of Legends”.

“I… yes, I wanted to see you”. Hanzo was panting, and he knew it didn’t depend on the physical exercise alone. His heart fluttered and his skin prickled as he watched his brother walk casually into the gym, unaware of everything.

Because Genji trusted him.

Words formed and faded in his brain, a grey shadow thickening inside him. He stared at the slender shape approaching and blinked. What stung in his eyes couldn’t be tears.

“Hanzo? Are you ok?” Genji frowned and leaned closer, inspecting his brother with his head tilted on the side.

The best decision.

The right thing.

Hanzo shook his head to clear it from the unwanted wave of grief that made his heart heavy. There was affection in his brother’s eyes, the purest form he’d ever experienced, and suddenly he didn’t look weird or wrong anymore. His wings were just a part of him, his scales another feature of his face.

And he, Hanzo, was the real monster.

“Genji, I need you to know that… that everything I do is only for our family’s sake”, he croaked, barely recognizing his voice.

“Well yeah, and water is wet. Tell me something I don’t know”. He yawned and ruffled his green hair. “You seem off. Too much stress, am I right?” He threw the towel on the floor and smiled at Hanzo.

That smile. Despite half a lifetime of imprisonment, more than a decade of tears and bitterness, it still shone like when they were young.

Hanzo wanted to say something; the need to justify himself was overwhelming, and his recently removed wings pulsated under his skin.

_Am I doing the right thing indeed?_

It was the worst time for doubt, because when he’d picked up his phone in the dead of night and called Goldberg, he’d known there was no going back. And yet…

“Come on, Hanzo, take that sour look off your face and tell me what’s wrong. I’m all…”

Footsteps. Just outside the gym, heavy and quick. Genji’s gentle expression crumpled as he turned to the door, and Hanzo felt a chill froze his blood.

“I did it for you”, he whispered, and it was as if he was floating out of his body. The vast room was dull, its borders darkening at the corner of his eyes, and everything – the dumbbells scattered on the floor, the machines by the walls – looked alien and frightening.

“Hanzo, what… what have you…”

He had a second to witness the dawning of understanding in Genji’s eyes, and the look of betrayed trust, of disbelief, imprinted in his soul like a fiery brand.

He _knew_.

Half a dozen men stormed the gym, all wearing the same black uniforms and badges on their arms. FBI.

The world crumbled to pieces. Genji screamed as the first federal hit him in the back with stock of his rifle; he fell to his knees, and two more men hurried forward. They blocked his arms, bending them behind his back with little care. Not enough: Genji fought back, kicking and flapping his wings; one hit a federal across the face, sending him flat on his back and calling for his comrades’ intervention.

Hanzo lost it when a loud crack echoed in the air – the sound of broken bones, as a soldier grabbed one of Genji’s wings and snapped the thin joint the wrong way. A beastly cry filled the room, and Hanzo sobbed, taking a step back.

_Wrong. This is wrong, this is a mistake. Stop it, stop hurting him, he’s my little brother, I only wanted him to be better, not this,_ never _this._

But he couldn’t speak. He stood paralyzed as the federals pulled Genji back on his feet, securing his wrists on the small of his back with a plastic band, tight enough to dig into his skin. They pushed him and dragged him, and at the last moment Genji looked up.

His lips were stained with blood, his cheeks glistening with tears, and when his mouth moved without a sound Hanzo read a single word.

_Why?_

He’d known what was happening, but not the reason behind it. And like that, with a broken wing and a broken heart, he was taken away, leaving Hanzo with the agonizing awareness of his own crime.

In a minute, even the last echo of the armed men that unrooted his brother from his life died in the distance, and Hanzo was alone.

The silence was maddening, heavy against his ears, broken only by his ragged breaths and thundering heart. He couldn’t move, and the wet trails running down his jaw were not sweat; in the complete shock of his own guilt he started to shake so hard his legs gave way and he sunk to his knees, his hands abandoned in his lap. There was blood on his fingers – wasn’t there? He couldn’t see it but he felt it, he could smell it and taste it on his tongue.

He couldn’t breathe or close his eyes, wide and unfocused on his shaking hands, and from his lips fell a wheezing sound that slowly rose into a wail, only to explode in a desperate howl. He took his head in his hands and rocked back and forth, empty of any logical thought. Falling into a void of horror, as a handful of words bounced inside his skull.

_What have I done?_


	2. Savior

[Savior](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=e8X3ACToii0)

 

When Genji floated to the surface of his consciousness he had no idea of where he was – or _when_ , or _why_. He barely knew who he was, and the very notion of his own existence was not a pleasant one.

It was cold – _he_ was cold, the metal chilled under his body, the AC sending goosebumps up his exposed skin, his arms, legs, and chest. He’d have chattered his teeth, but his whole face felt off, stiff and weird. Maybe opening his eyes could have made things better, but the task, simple and trivial as it was, was still beyond his possibilities. He swallowed a moan and cursed in silence (and with little efficacy, since his tongue felt much like a slab of felt stuck to his palate) when he made a feeble attempt at squinting.

He hated the sensation, and was at the same time all too familiar with it. Waking up with confused memories of the night before, a pounding headache and no idea about what substance in particular was the culprit for his awful illness.

Sure thing Hanzo would soon storm his quarters and scold him for not being responsible enough, or mature enough, or normal enough. For not being like him, like their father wanted.

The thought stirred a pool of acid in his soul. Hating his family would have been so much easier, still better than that agonizing blend of love and resentment he felt anytime his gaze lingered on his father, or even worse on his brother.

Hanzo’s face blossomed in his mind, so real with his condescending grimace and the stern twist of his lips that Genji gasped.

But then the sour feeling in his chest intensified, and Hanzo’s sharp features shone brighter in his memory.

Circles rippled in his brain as he scanned those dark eyes judging him, again and again.

Another muffled moan and Genji turned his face on the cold metal surface.

No pillow? Why wasn't he in his own bed, like every single night in the last decade or so? This – whatever it was – was different. Wrong.

It was only when he opened his lips, letting out a soft whine he was not proud of, that he woke up for good.

His whole face burned in a blaze of pain that drew a real protest from his lips, but those, too, felt swollen, and when he smacked them to get a grip on his sensations above the shocks of suffering running under his skin, he tasted blood on the tip of his tongue.

_What the fuck is happening?_

He pried his eyes open, and the sudden white light from the ceiling blinded him.

Instinct moved his fingers, a simple reaction of his nerves to put his hand to his face and shield him from the light, but his wrist hit the smooth, unrelenting edge of a metal ring wrapped around his arm.

Gasping, eyes now wide open and breaths itching in his throat, Genji hit reality face first.

His arms, his legs – all blocked the same way, with icy cold metal that ignored his clenched fists or attempts at kicks. His wings, too, seemed held in position by similar bands, and as he contracted the muscles of his back to move them, a firework of red-hot pain burst from the joint midway through the left one.

His heart ran wild in his ears and his throat, quickened breaths escaping his lips, and a cluster of white sparkles and black dots started to crawl at the corner of his eyes.

The more he fought his constraints, the worse it was: the dizziness was coming back, even stronger when he looked to his side and saw a metal wall covered in screens and buttons, and an IV protruding from his forearm; something pearly white dripped in his veins, and again his predominant impulse was to rip it from his body.

Panic surged in his chest and up to his head, and the silence screamed in his ears with a thousand wordless voices that rumbled inside his skull. Darkness thickened, and his brain was still unfocused on anything but the animalistic need to get free, to understand. Fear turned into grief and a delirious homesickness.

He wanted his father, he would have known what to do, he could have helped him. He was always so calm and ready to face whatever situation dropped on his head… he needed his guidance. Or even his brother’s cold reprimands – fuck, he needed _Hanzo_.

Tears froze on his lashes.

Hanzo. Long hair slipping from his ponytail, veins thick on his neck as he trained in the gym, eyes avoiding Genji’s as he grasped for a justification for his actions.

For his _betrayal_.

His pants became faster, more erratic, and his eyes fixed on the white ceiling without seeing it. His brother – his own fucking brother – sold him to those people. Like a monster, a criminal.

Hanzo, the one he’d spent his childhood looking up to, the perfect son, the pride of the Shimada family. A cold-hearted bastard, and Genji, crying in silence between bitten off growls, realized he’d never known him. He was a stranger, an enemy, and he himself only a pathetic idiot. Genji sobbed, tears running free down his temples and his neck, his gaze still stuck to the anonymous ceiling.

He loved his brother, he thought they were a family, and instead he was wrong. How long had Hanzo been plotting his plan? Did father know, approved, maybe?

The enormity of his loneliness was the last drop. His heart stopped for the fraction of a second, leaving him in a void of confusion and anguish, and then it started to beat so hard and fast his head throbbed.

Arching in his bindings, the pain from the broken wing only a faraway reminder of the harsh treatment he’d been subjected to, Genji contracted every muscle of his body – and it hurt, it hurt so much he wanted to throw up, the pain of countless cuts and stitches inflaming his skin, but he barely felt it. Beyond panic and fear, rage invaded him.

Inflating his lungs caused him more suffering but he couldn't help a deep breath from turning into a beastly scream. He cried out his pain and his betrayed trust until his throat ached and his chest burned – until his voice died down to a desperate sobbing, and eventually to a pitiful wailing.

He wanted to curl on his side and stop existing, even only for a second, but his bindings were just another form of torture.

_How long have you been hating me, brother? How many months or years have you looked at me with nothing but loathing? I didn't want to be like this, didn't choose to be a mutant. Why have you done this to me?_

In the pitch-black silence of his despair, he found no answers, only voices. A memory of Hanzo’s low words when he told him bedtime stories so many years ago, their father calling him ‘little sparrow’ and burying guilt under layers of condescension. His own mute scream, and something else.

Beyond the thumping of his heartbeat, someone was talking. And not in his head, but there, just outside the room. Angry tones seeping under the door and shaking him from his swamp of anger.

Genji held his breath and his ears flicked forward.

“… not allowed in the laboratory, colonel”.

“Bullshit, dr. Dreschner, I do whatever the fuck I want! Now step aside and let me get my sample”.

A man and a woman, the latter clearly upset. Genji, for what little his position allowed him, tried to lift his head, wincing at the burning tension in his neck.

“How many times do we have to entertain this same conversation, colonel Hillridge? Subjects not meeting the requirements for passing the Registration Act 619 are deployed to my lab – _mine_ , not yours – and after I’m done with my test you can have the…”

“Leftovers”. A deep growl, and Genji focused his eyes on the stained glass of the metal door. A tall, lanky shape and a shorter one, shoulder hunched and fists closed.

“… preliminary results and all the samples your team may need. How naïve of you to treat my mission like a butchery”.

“At least I'm not such a hypocrite to pretend I’m doing it _pro bono_ ”.

“I'm looking for a cure for cancer, and the analysis of such a vast array of individuals is…”

A thud, and the shorter figure grabbed the second one, slamming him against the wall.

“My team is _this_ close to creating the ultimate weapon that could guarantee peace for all mankind. I need that mutant, and I need it _now_ ”.

Genji’s throat clenched.

 _It_ , not _him_. He was a commodity, a lab rat, not a person.

He slowly closed his eyes, and in doing so his gaze lingered on his body.

The two quarreling voices died in the distance, blurred by a wave of nausea at the sight of the cobweb of wounds on his chest and stomach. A huge Y shaped cut ran from his collarbones to his sternum and down to his navel, surrounded by a constellation of smaller incisions on his sides and chest. Tidy stitches marked his skin, black and burning.

He needed to breathe, to vomit and to yell at the same time, but he couldn't take his eyes off the devastation of his body.

What were they doing to him? To those like him?

“At least I'm not the one who let his experiments roam free in the base and eventually escape, causing a dozen of deaths and huge losses for the program!” The male voice covered that of the supposed colonel.

“You… you… how _dare_ you, Dreschner? It was an accident and you know it perfectly well! Just wait until it happens to you too and we will…”

“Colonel Hillridge, you're wasting my time. I have a fresh sample to analyze and to store accordingly, so please leave my laboratory and I’ll see that you're provided with some data as soon as possible”.

Genji was still moaning softly from the shock of his newly discovered condition, but he couldn't miss the tension between the two – even without seeing their faces, he felt the woman shot the taller man a fiery gaze before walking away in heavy steps.

He had a second to recollect himself, for what it was possible considering his general state, before the door opened with a slam. Genji didn't even try to play dead and openly stared at the young man on the door. Not much older than him, tall and slim, with ginger hair smoothed back and a plain, pale face, he turned a pair of empty blue eyes to him, smiling. It was horrible.

“Ah, I see you're awake. Good, number 398b – although in your case we could make an exception and use your family name?” The man, in an immaculate white lab coat and shiny black shoes, ran a long hand on his smooth chin and shook his head. “Better not, I prefer to keep it all professional. I'm doctor Elias Dreschner, and for the next few minutes, I’ll be in charge of you. I want you to know that it is not my intention to cause you any pain, so if you experience any kind of discomfort please tell me”. As he spoke, he reached Genji’s bed and checked the IV; a small grimace twisted his thin lips and he shook his head in disapproval. “See? Your painkiller is running low”.

With precise gestures, he changed the sack, and Genji felt panic assault him again. Better suffer than be left unconscious, with no idea of what he was going through; he clenched his fist and contracted his arm, hoping for the best.

“Where… where am I?” His voice sounded so pathetically childish, hoarse from his scream, that he almost wished he hadn't spoken at all.

“You were subjected to the Registration test, 398b, but with a – let’s call it a speedy procedure. Unfortunately, you didn't pass the test, so now you're going to serve as…”

“I took no fucking test! I… I was taken from home and… and…”

Dreschner turned his back to Genji and his thin shoulders rose slightly.

“As I said, a speedy procedure. Don’t be concerned about your past or your future, just be glad you'll feel no pain. I'm a scientist, not a monster, and I don’t want my case studies to suffer. The high levels of cortisol could alter the results”.

“What… results?” The painkiller was starting to work its magic, and Genji felt his extremities go numb.

The doctor looked at him, a syringe in his hand and the kindest, most horrible smile on his lips.

“Your father is Sojiro Shimada, if I recall correctly – oh, who am I kidding? Of course, I recall correctly – a good friend of Senator Goldberg. Poor Alan, he's so confused and needs no in-depth explanation of our project… anyway, your father has pancreatic cancer, right?”

Genji didn't answer. It was true, but a well-kept secret, almost as confidential as the existence of a mutant son. Dreschner apparently didn't need him to go on.

“Consider your participation in the research a gift to your family: each mutant I'm allowed to study brings us a step closer to defeat illnesses such as your father’s”.

His brain was clogged with the substance slowly descending into his veins, but Genji forced it to cooperate.

“You use mutants as Guinea pigs. They… they're not disappearing, you're using them…”

“A smart subject: you're more interesting than expected. One more good reason not to handle you to that virago of Hillridge – she would milk you of every last drop of blood, centrifugate it and play the little chemist to create more brutes like her. Such a waste…”

He walked to the cot and placed a gloved, cold hand on Genji’s forehead. The same gesture Hanzo always did when they were kids and Genji would cry from his imprisonment. Nausea worsened, and he was sure he could have just thrown up in Dreschner’s face. He enjoyed the possibility.

“We've already performed some biopsies to study the reactions of your body _in vivo_ , but now we need to go deeper down. Unfortunately, our exams are incompatible with life – but this will be our little secret”.

 _Secret_. That single word shone in the dreadful declaration of that twisted doctor.

“You are going… to kill me. You killed all the disappeared mutants”, he muttered in a husky voice.

Dreschner shrugged and slid a white mask on his nose and mouth.

“Science requires sacrifices, and some things are better not be divulged. My means might not be orthodox, but goals are what really matters”.

 _Secret_? Genji, half drowned in the effect of the chemical in his blood, grabbed that word. Nobody knew – not even Hanzo, maybe? But hating him was so much easier, it kept him warm, gave him a reason to stay angry and look forward. Even if it hurt like hell.

“Now… oh, right”. Dreschner tapped a small keyboard on the wall, and a soft female voice filled the room.

“ _Yes, doctor?_ ”

“Clementine, my dear, I should have received a parcel earlier this morning. Could you open it for me?”

He took a vial from a glass cabinet and flicked his finger on the glass. Genji, in the shadows crawling inside his head, saw him smile as he pierced the rubber top with the syringe.

 _“It's a… a compact disc”_ , the voice from the wall said, not without some surprise.

“Chopin’s Nocturnals, a vintage edition. Amazing”.

 _“Do you want me to bring it down there, doctor?”_  
  
A low chuckle, and Dreschner shook his head.

“No, no, Clementine, you know our job down here is strictly confidential. Your professionality is priceless where it is, don’t concern yourself about the labs. But could you be an angel and play the CD? It'll help me concentrate”.

 _“Immediately, doctor Dreschner”._  The woman didn't flinch and her tone didn't change, polite and monotonous. In a couple of seconds, the soft sound of a piano echoed in the lab.

For some time, Dreschner was so absorbed by his preparation he didn't spare Genji a single look.

Unable to be properly desperate, with the thick cover of the painkiller dulling his senses, Genji insisted in contracting his arm in a last feeble attempt at staying alert.

He was fucked. Dead, he only had to realize it, or to wait for the change of the substance polluting his blood. Shifting from sleep to death was going to be painless, and this made him furious – he didn't get to experience so many things, now he was missing his death too?

_Fuck off._

His eyes couldn't stay open, no matter how hard he tried, and soon the symphony of piano and the small little sounds Dreschner made around him faded into a buzzing confusion. It was as if someone was pressing a pillow on his senses, and Genji, who'd searched for the sensation so many times in his rebellious nights, winced without moving in a mixture of fear and rage.

Not like this – he was too young and somewhat innocent, he didn't deserve this, he was not Hanzo.

The sudden howling of a siren would have startled him, had he been in different conditions. For the bottom of his doze, Genji retrieved the willpower to lift an eyelid, oddly uninterested in what was going on, too drugged to care.

Flashing red lights drained the laboratory of life and color, as well as the doctor: pale, his big eyes wide and his plain face twisted in horror. Genji felt the echo of laughter in the back of his mind: whatever was happening made Dreschner uncomfortable – if not straight out terrified – and this was a pleasant petty revenge. Even this, though, was dulled by whatever substance he was being subjected to.

He only grasped shards of words – _intrusion, security breach, preposterous, my data_ – that made absolutely no sense in his confused state. Dreschner stormed out of the lab, and in doing so he ran so close to the cot Genji was on that his arm hooked into the IV, ripping it from his skin. Something Genji knew he should be excited about, but the only thing he registered was the slam of the door, followed closely by a loud beep that resonated above the siren.

Then everything went still. Not quiet, considering how the corridor just outside the lab still roared with people running and yelling, but nothing in his small world of chemicals and confusion moved anymore.

Something had happened, and Genji had been forgotten. Just like his father would have wanted.

Even anger was gone, and soon the pain from the countless wounds that slashed his body would be back.

He closed his eyes and felt tears prickle behind his lids. He had no idea why he was crying again, but his throat clenched painfully.

He lay still for long minutes, or maybe hours for what he knew, until eventually the red light stopped flashing above his face. The lab went white and clean once more, and it was somehow comforting to see it go back to normality.

_I’m losing my mind, and it’s not even half as fun as I'd pictured it._

The blinding neon lights flickered once, or maybe Genji closed his eyes for a second – no, they were still open, dry and burning. Another quick black-out, silence outside, and when the lights returned it looked like the darkness was stretching in black tentacles from the door.

Genji frowned. Last time he'd seen something like this he'd taken an unreasonable dose of LSD, and he frankly doubted Dreschner was into this kind of things. The neon lights flashed once again, and before his foggy eyes, the black mist was back. He would have shaken his head to clear it, but every movement made him even sicker.

Somewhere deep down his fading consciousness, a flash of curiosity sparkled. The dark mist seeping under the door had no smell he could recognize, but it was undoubtedly thickening in a tall column.

And suddenly such column sprouted a pair of long legs and thick arms, broad shoulders and a bone white face. A mask? No, of course not, who would have worn such a costume so far from Halloween?

Death. It was Death itself, and Genji had been expecting it. It was weird being resigned more than scared, but he stood still as the tall figure approached him.

“Mph. You're not what I've been expecting, kid”. A male voice, gravelly and deep as he'd never heard. Appropriate. “Let me guess, you have no idea what you're doing here – Jesus, look at you, the sliced you like a ham. Can you even hear me?”

“Are… you here to… take me to the other side?” Fuck, he sounded ridiculous, in his right mind he would have never said such a thing. The creature, though, didn't seem to mind: it only stared down at a Genji (or so he thought, since the white mask only sported two black holes where the eyes were supposed to be) and brought a clawed hand to his ear.

“Hey, Goldilocks, you reading me?”

Genji didn't hear a reply, only the annoyed gesture of the monster who tilted his head back and – apparently – rolled its eyes. It was surprisingly expressive for something that had no face.

“Yeah, yeah, spare me your military discipline. I got another one and I'm not leaving him behind. He's – uh – young, green and could use Angela's intervention. And some clothes, too”.

When the thing stopped on the cot, big hands unlocking the cuffs at his wrists, Genji could hear a rough voice from his comm.

_“… two already, and we're risking the squad’s life on a whim. We must leave now!”_

“Jackie, keep your ramblings to the bedroom, would you? I'm not letting this one die”, and it tore the metal from Genji's wing as if it was paper. Some more angry rants rose from his earpiece, and Genji caught a furious ‘ _Gabe, you idiot’_ that made the creature chuckle. Eventually, free from his cuffs, Genji arched his back and tried to lift his hands to no avail. He was too heavy and tired, and the fact that his only reaction to what looked like a rescue was bland curiosity said a lot about how stoned he was.

The monster clicked his tongue and snatched the comm from his ear, dropping it into one of the pockets of his long, black trench coat. A hard arm slid behind Genji's shoulders, and panic darted through his brain once more. He tried to squirm to get out of that things grip, but he was so weak…

“I want to hope you're just full of some drug and not fried as Amélie… wait, maybe this will help”. It let him down on the cold metal and Genji blinked as it grabbed the mask with a big paw. A click, and the impression of having a living skeleton or Death itself in front of him disappeared. He was still on the verge of unconsciousness, but he could see very well that what he'd considered a monster was nothing but a man. Tall, with dark curls striped with grey on his sideburns, a black goatee and equally black eyes – completely black, iris and sclera like globes of obsidian.

“Who… who are…”

“I'm Gabriel Reyes. Reaper if you wish, and currently your savior. Now do me a favor and pass out as I take you away from this shitty hole”.

And Genji, without meaning to, obeyed. One last glimpse of dark, ethereal tentacles, hands lifting him as if he was a child, and he finally gave up any resistance.

 

 

 

Genji woke up a dozen times during the journey, and each time the world around him was different.

He vaguely remembered a metal ceiling and deep blue seats, worn out and patched. Faces – Gabriel Reyes, of course, but also a buff, pale man with white-blonde short hair and faded blue eyes. They were arguing, with a hint of irony on Reaper’s side, and Genji was still too confused to understand their words.

There were other people, a guy not much older than him, with unruly dark hair and a sparse beard on a square jaw; the blonde woman crouched in front of Genji called him Jesse, and he let out a loud, mirthless laughter. Blood was smeared around his lips.

A kid – no, a young girl – was driving, small white hands on the commands. Two more women stood buckled in far from him, but all Genji could make out of their figures were delicate features and seething rage.

He fell asleep again and again, lulled by the movements of whatever vehicle they were in, and when he opened his eyes the world was not moving anymore around him. Someone had pitifully wrapped him in a blanket, and the arms that carried him offboard were strong and careful. And also very hairy and very _blue_.

He blacked out some more, or so he thought, because he'd no memory of being tucked into a small, tidy bed. All he knew was that there was another needle in his arm, but this time his mind was clearing enough to let terror best him. Genji panted and squirmed, not the best decision he could have made since his broken wing throbbed painfully as if from a great distance. A cold, small hand landed on his shoulder and held him down, accompanied by a sweet but commanding voice.

“Don't fret, you're severely wounded and need assistance. Be still some more and I promise you'll be fine”. The same blonde woman he'd noticed before, with big blue eyes and a faint German accent, pushed him back against the pillow with surprising ease.

“Who the fuck are you, where the fuck am I, and leave me the fuck alone!” He rasped, trying to swat her hands away. Her gentle stare hardened like steel.

“My name is Angela Ziegler and I'm a doctor. We rescued you from Dreschner’s lab and now you are safe. Is this enough?”

Genji blinked and tried again to sit up, but he was so weak he could barely kick his legs under the blankets.

“The fuck it is! Where are…”

“More answers will come, and very soon. Not that I agreed with letting them stress one of my patients like this, but…”

A door Genji hadn't even noticed opened, and a small crowd invaded the room. At a second glance, it looked like some kind of infirmary, with four identical white beds stacked against cracked greenish walls. Two seemed occupied, but thick grey tents prevented him from recognizing much but slumped shapes.

“… found nothing. It was completely useless, and we risked…”

“Tell these three it was useless, Jack”. Reaper’s voice rolled, low and menacing, among the sound of marching steps.

“We had a _plan_ ”.

“A plan we followed. Don't blame me if the government hid its files better than you expected, my love”.

“Gentlemen, I think we should keep this discussion for another moment. We have some new faces who require some explanations…”

It was a mess, voices covering one each other and grunting noises from Game and Jack, but most importantly an assortment of faces and weird details. Was that a blue gorilla wearing glasses?

The latter caught Genji staring with his mouth open and chuckled uneasily, pushing his glasses up his nose. After all, he was probably not an ape, but very hairy nonetheless.

“Sorry to invade your spaces, Angela, but the truth is currently a more pressing necessity than healthcare – none of them is in immediate danger, right?”

“No, but in one case it would be preferable”. Angela pressed her lips in a furious line and proceeded to open the curtains.

Genji tried to regain a more comfortable position, but even laying down he saw his two companions. The first one was a girl, probably younger than him; she looked mostly unharmed, with a thick cascade of black and purple hair shorn on the side of her head and big eyes full of mistrust. He glanced at her - something was off, but he couldn't quite tell.

Then he understood: her dark skin was evenly covered in thin, shiny scars. Tattoos, maybe? The girl moved in her white, short hospital gown, and the light from a yellow lamp on the ceiling revealed the true nature of her markings.

Circuits, all of them.

Genji was impressed already, and a piece of the puzzle clicked in place in his mind.

 _Mutant_.

Still, when he looked at the second woman, a shiver rippled his skin. She was sitting on her bed, hands lightly clasped in her lap, her elegant profile slowly turning toward the door. She was slender, long legs and a shiny ponytail descending between her shoulder blades, but her skin was the wrong color – a bluish purple, and it was not the only wrong thing in her. Yes, the dark line from her lower lip to her chin was weird, and the three pair of red eyes on her forehead and temples straight out horrifying, but it was nothing compared to the look in her human pupils.

Genji shivered when they passed on him without paying him any attention. They were beyond cold – they were _dead,_  empty, completely indifferent.

“Amélie… what happened to you?” Genji recognized the voice, deep and growling. He managed to get on his elbows and saw the man called Jack look at Amélie in shock.

“Her body is undamaged, but they… broke something. Some connections in her brain are gone, and I had no time to…”

Jack interrupted Angela and took a step forward.

“Gérard?”

“They told me to kill him”. Amélie’s voice, just like her eyes, sounded lifeless. “I did it”.

A collectively held breath led to a long, deep silence. Eventually, it was the cyber girl who spoke.

“How sad, isn't it? But now could you tell us what do you want from us and what's happening?”

“Ah, yes, sure”. The hairy blue man took a seat and gestured his companions to do the same. Angela and Lena took the only two available chairs, Jesse dropped on the floor, patting the pocket on his chest to find a cigarette, and Jack and Gabe stood still, looking at each other with clear distrust.

“First, I would like to ask you for your names. We know Amélie, she's one of us, and we have but some hints about you two”.

“Call me Sombra”, said the purple haired girl. “That's all you need to know”.

“I see – er, we found little about you on the database we managed to access, and…”

“That's because I'm good at hiding my personal data and you're bad at searching for them”. She threw her hair behind her shoulder and sneered. “Sombra. It’s me”.

Gabe chuckled from the door. He looked less intimidating without his mask and coat, but he was clearly not human. A faint black mist pooled around his feet.

The blue man pushed his glasses back once more and cleared his throat.

“That will be enough for now – and you are … well, we already know your name, but it came quite as a surprise. Could you introduce yourself to…”

“Why should I?” Genji felt a jolt of anger shine through the remains of his dizziness and bared his teeth.

“Because we didn't know you were still alive, Genji Shimada”, Jack said in a cold whisper.

“Nor that you were one of us”, Gabe added, his quarrel with Jack brushed apart for a second. “Your family was really good at hiding you for all these years”.

“You're a Shimada? _Really_?” Sombra’s eyes grew even bigger and she looked at Genji with a creepy smile on her lips. “This is the juiciest gossip I've ever heard and…”

“I am”. Genji interrupted her with a grimace. “My brother sold me to the government and I guess I'll never know why. Are you planning to make a profit of my name or…”

“No. You're deader than you used to be, boy, and we’re not some criminal syndicate”, said Gabe with a frown.

“But first let's finish with the introduction. You gave us your names – well, more or less – and it's only fair we reciprocate. I'm Winston”, the gorilla-looking man said, placing a huge fuzzy hand on his chest. “Winston McCoy, and these are…”

“Wait, wait, McCoy, you said?” Sombra laughed and let her feet dangle from the bed. “Surprises never end, right? Are you related to Hank McCoy or something?”

Winston’s face, square jaw and bright blue eyes over an aquiline nose, twisted into a grimace.

“My grandfather. The… the mutation apparently skips one generation, and the serum he took in his youth messed up his DNA even more”. He sniffed and his stern gaze insisted on Sombra a second longer. “Anyway, you all already know dr. Ziegler; here are Gabriel Reyes”, and Reaper waved, winking. He still managed to look awfully serious. “And Jack Morrison. Or 76, as his code name”.

Jack merely nodded, his pale eyes stuck to Amélie. He looked almost normal, but the long scars on his sharp face told a different story. Winston coughed in his fist and resumed: “There are some more in the base – Lena drove us here, and Jesse was part of the operation; Lúcio helps Angela in the med bay, and more agents are scattered all around…”

“Agents? Why agents?” Sombra said again. Genji was still too shocked to be curious, but it looked like Gabe was appreciating the girl’s questions. As Winston sighed, he moved from the wall and crossed his arms.

“Remember Dr. Xavier’s school?” He asked plainly. Sombra shrugged and nodded, Genji felt a sting of impatience.

“I spent the last ten years locked up, but even I know what it…”

“Forget it”, Gabe deadpanned. “We’re not an élite school for wealthy mutants trying to fit into society. Nor we are a supremacist organization like Magneto’s – humans are jerks, mutants are jerks, no one is better than the other”.

“We’re fugitives”, Jack continued. His voice was harsh, rough with impatience and anger. “Soldiers escaped from experimental enhancement programs, like Gabe and I, renegades who spent their whole life on the streets, mutants deemed too dangerous or interesting to make it out of the Registration test alive”. He nodded to Genji and Sombra with his chin. “Like you, or Angela, or Lena. We… they got Amélie. We couldn't find her in time”.

“I'm here because it's the right thing to do”, Winston said in an oddly humble voice. “My grandfather played such an important role in the recognition of equal rights for mutants, and I won't stand idle as his work is being torn to pieces by the government”.

“Let's get down to business, kids: we need people and you owe us your lives”. Gabe drew the gaze of his black eyes on Genji first, then more insistently on Sombra. “Welcome to Overwatch, unlucky bastards”.

 

 

“… so yeah, Goldberg knows no shit ‘bout the whole Dreschner and Hillridge affair”.

Jesse McCree, as the guy had promptly introduced himself almost one hour before, was sitting on the edge of Genji’s bed.

He'd offered him a cigarette, and Genji would have gladly accepted, hadn't it been for the persistent, vague nausea that still plagued him, two days into Overwatch. That, and the absolute terror dr. Ziegler instilled in him.

Jesse seemed unbothered and took a long drag, taking advantage of the momentary absence of Angela. Away to some business in Nepal, and her patients were all well enough to be left in the care of her second. Lúcio was a genuinely good guy, always humming a tune and drumming his fingers following a melody only he could hear. He was good spirited and oddly normal, despite his green, sparkling skin and yellow eyes.

“Looks like I'm half frog, and the poisonous kind, too”, he'd said when he'd first met Genji, wiggling his gloved fingers. “No worries, I'm safe now, but the Men in Black were a bit too interested in me for my own good, so here I am”. His smile would have been contagious, an actual ray of sunlight in the grim underground quarters, but Genji was still too broken and bitter to care.

Sombra too was sitting on his bed; she was well, but was not allowed outside the med bay until Jack and Gabe were back from Nepal.

“Is Goldberg so stupid? If I recall correctly, and I do, he's a good friend to your family”, she said, pointing at Genji.

_What family? The brother who hates me, the father who's better off without me or the mother I killed when I was born?_

He didn't reply and crossed his arms, even if it hurt his broken wing and healing wounds. Sombra snorted and looked at Jesse.

“We don't know whether he's stupid or very smart, and it's some good info to find out…”

“That's when I come into play, isn't it?” Sombra chuckled and wiggled her slender fingers. The lights on the ceiling flickered.

Jesse shrugged and winked at her.

“Likely, but I'm not the one who makes the plans. Fortunately”, he grinned, and Genji saw once more that his smile, as bright and charming as it was, sported some unmistakable fangs. McCree noticed his stare and cocked an eyebrow. “Come on, Toothless, ask away. I can hear you thinkin’ from here”.

“What's your problem?” He blurted out. It was hard to recognize that angry tone in his own voice. “I mean, Sombra is covered in circuits, Winston is blue, Lúcio is a frog, but you or Angela or Lena look _normal_ ”.

“Define _normal_ , dude. We mutants are so many I'm not even sure we're not the majority, at this point”. He clenched his fists and stretched; the black t-shirt he was wearing didn’t hide how big he was. “I'm not supposed to mind my mates’ business, but since they're not here… Angela can absorb physical pain from people and help them heal faster, but it's quite bad for her. She'll never tell, tho. Then there's Jack Morrison, the best reflexes in the world and double the neural connections we all have – the enhancement program worked like a charm on him, but made him very angry, too. Lena can slow time down, and Amélie…”

He glanced at the now empty bed she used to sit in, motionless and cold; Angela had thought that bringing her on a mission would maybe help her brain remember, so she was off too. McCree sighed and threw his half-smoked cigarette in an empty water bottle on Genji's night table. “Dunno what she's become now, but she's always been something like a spider. Quite scary, but her husband, Gérard, liked her nonetheless”.

Genji suddenly remembered her words. They – Dreschner or Hillridge or some of their minions – told her to kill her own husband, and she did it without blinking an eye. He trembled in his plain Overwatch robes and gritted his teeth.

“And what about you, _amigo_? You're making us curious”. Sombra seemed untouched by her captivity, or was extremely good at hiding her emotions. The same couldn't be said of McCree, whose cheerful face darkened instantly; he ran his left hand, a shiny, elegant metal prosthesis with a rather cheesy skull engraved on the forearm, on the back of his neck. The gestured removed his shaggy hair and showed a small black box fixed to his skin.

“Let's just say that I have to thank Angie and Winston for this lil’ thing, otherwise I'd be still running around causing trouble and…”

“You have a mostly peculiar mutation. I – er – heard someone mention it?” The lie in her voice was so clear Genji was sure Sombra wanted to boast.

He couldn't but join the conversation.

“This is a circus. Why would you…”

But McCree was very serious.

“Stop hackin' our systems, or the bosses will be real pissed, girl”.

“Never mind, I read some reports about you, and you sound fresh out of a Gothic novel, with your…”

He got to his feet so quickly Genji jumped in his bed. A big man, twice as scary now that he didn't look as good-natured as he'd used to, towering over Sombra with narrowed eyes and a cruel grin on his lips.

“Be glad you don't need to see me in my original form. You'd hate it almost as much as I do”, he snarled.

An uncomfortable silence followed, and Genji felt completely out of place.

“Well”, he said eventually, his voice breaking the tension between Sombra and McCree, “I still can't see what use I could be. I'm just a freak, not some superhuman”.

At this McCree shrugged and sat back, his gentle expression back on his face.

“We’re few here in Overwatch, and… let's just say we manage to have troubles getting along as it is – not me or the other kids, just Jack and Gabe. One would say they should set their quarrels in the bedroom, but they do that often enough already. Yup, sorry, you probably didn't care ‘bout this detail… anyway, we need more people here. Other units are displaced all around the world – we have Ana in the Middle East, Satya in India, she's the one who sent out the call for the current mission, and some more – but were not enough yet. You, Genji, will learn and come in handy, I'm sure”. He crossed his ankles, and Genji noticed he was wearing spurs. “Just get better, and as soon as the old men are back we'll see”.

 

 

Such thing happened somewhere during the following night. Genji had been awake, an annoying eventuality he was furiously growing accustomed to. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw Hanzo’s face – his shocked look, the blood leaving his face the moment he'd realized his plan had come to completion – and he opened them back, panting and clawing at the sheets in hatred.

Lúcio had offered him a vast selection of sleeping pills, and he'd refused them all. The nightmare of being in a lab, too numbed to realize how fucked up he was, was still fresh enough to clear him of any desire of altering his conscience.

He was laying with his face to the wall, aware that he was alone. In absence of Angela’s strict control, Sombra had left the medical wing and was probably wandering around the base. He didn't care, as unimportant to him was the sound of footsteps from outside the door. Still, when it opened with a creak, a well known rough voice whispered in the dark.

“Are we just leaving the boy here?” Jack sounded exhausted, and Angela, when she replied, not less so.

“He's not in danger, or a danger to anyone for now”. A huff, a muttered German flow of words. “Sombra is gone, I've been clear about…”

“Upstairs. Gabe checked on her, she's not leaving”. A soft sound came from the bed to his left, followed by the hiss of the curtain being pulled. “Does he need your assistance?”

“He will sleep through the night, and I'm too tired to be of much use”. She sighed, and Genji waited for something to happen, but only heard her gentle whisper. “Poor boy, he's been through so much. The more he can rest, the better it is”.

“Go to bed, Angela. You've done more than enough”. There was some kindness in Jack’s voice as his heavy steps and Angela’s light ones withdrew to the door; Genji dared to lift his head and check behind him; it was dark, and he could see little but the sliver of yellow lights when the entrance opened and closed, leaving silence behind.

Well, one more oddity to be added to the Overwatch circus. He quickly lost all interest and resumed his angry staring at the wall. The emptiness of his soul filled once more with wounded questions and furious, not completely sincere replies, and for hours no sound but the stranger’s quiet breathing filled the room.

Then, when his mind was drifting away into something similar to a trance, Genji heard a small sound from the other bed. A sob, so muffled he thought he'd imagined it until he heard it again.

He rolled his eyes and considered his few options: sleeping was impossible, and he didn't really want to speak to the newcomer, whoever he was. But that quiet crying, muffled by what sounded like a hand pressed to a mouth, was seeping through his stubborn denial. He thought once more to shift on the bed, making clear he was there and so, maybe, suggesting the guy to stop it, but the stifled sniff on the other side of the curtain snapped something inside him. He sighed in silence and slowly, painfully stood up.

The creaking of the mattress drew a gasp from his new companion; Genji hissed between his teeth as he adjusted his broken wing against the pillow, one hand pressed to his stomach, where the three main cuts conjoined.

“Hey. Is everything ok?” He asked in a whisper.

“Yes. Sorry, I thought I was alone”. A young voice, with a musical foreign accent, caressed his ears. “It was never my intention to bother you”.

“Don't worry, I don't get to sleep much anyway, so… well, hello, I suppose”.

“Greetings”, and even if still clogged with tears and shaky, the voice sounded mildly amused. It was a lame attempt at a conversation, but Genji had remarkably little experience in the field, so it was better than he'd expected. If he squinted, he could make out a slender figure sitting on the other bed, his head bent on his chest. His instinct told him that, despite the silence and the stillness, his nameless friend was still crying.

“I'm Genji, by the way”.

“Hello, Genji, I'm Zenyatta. And speaking to a faceless man is weird; would you mind if I pulled this curtain?” Zenyatta moved on his bed, and a sudden pale light beamed from his cubicle. Genji frowned, looking away from the tall guy next to him.

“I don't know, I'm quite a monster and I don't want to freak you out. So it's up to you, I suppose”.

The sweet voice veined with a smile, and Zenyatta leaned to the curtain.

“You have a kind, sad voice, Genji. You are no monster”. A long hand appeared between the curtains, dark fingers moving the fabric apart.

Genji, sitting on the edge of his mattress, kept his eyes lowered to his hands, pale and clasped in his lap, but Zenyatta’s presence was a call he couldn't ignore. He looked up, and something sparkled in the marsh of his inner darkness.

Young and ridiculously tall – these first two details hit him like darts. A thick bandage wrapped around his lean torso, a shiny shaved head decorated with blue dots on his forehead, Zenyatta looked barely twenty; there were bruises on his sweet face, and one of his eyes – golden? They looked golden indeed – was so puffy it could barely stay open. The traces of cry were clear on his reddened lids and nose.

After a while, Genji realized how rude his staring was, and he chuckled uneasily.

“I look weird, I know”, he justified himself, ruffling his green hair. Zenyatta sat back on his own bed and crossed his long legs, clad in tattered yellow silk.

“Your wings are really beautiful, and your scales shine like emeralds. You are not weird, you are unique – and I fear I have to break it to you, we all are”.

A warm feeling battled his grief, and Genji relaxed a bit. Zenyatta was smiling, the gesture oddly old and wise for someone that young.

“What happened to you? If I can ask. I guess you're the one they drove here from Nepal”.

“You are correct. I… I was in great danger, and I couldn't be left there anymore”. He toyed with the necklace of small round beads on his bare chest, his gaze losing in the distance. “I lost my brother”.

“I think I could say the same”, he growled in response. Zenyatta took a shaky breath and his voice broke with tears again.

“They… they killed him. He was in San Angeles for university and he disappeared… and Mr. Reyes told me they killed him. The government, he said, and they came to take me, too. Mondatta was a better man than me, a good brother, and now he's dead”.

“I envy you so much”, and too late Genji realized how wrong his words were. He bit his tongue, but Zenyatta had already lifted his head. There was no scorn on his delicate features, no anger – just an unbearable suffering.

“You shouldn't say so! Whatever happened to you it…”

“Sorry, this is a sensitive topic. Can we… skip it for something else? Like what's your power?” He was ashamed already for his words, and Zenyatta’s deep eyes made it all worse. The Nepali guy blinked once but didn't insist, tilting his head to the side.

“As you wish. I share my brother’s gift – he was more skilled than me, but I too can… how would you say it?” He adjusted to a more comfortable position and placed a slender hand on his chest. “I’m a psionic. I can mirror people’s emotions. I can take someone's pain and despair away and let them think clearly for a moment”. He sighed and dropped his hand. “A dangerous power”.

Genji shrugged, wincing from the pain in his broken wing. “It sounds pretty good to me. Like – you don't look like someone who would hurt people”.

A shadow passed through Zenyatta’s eyes, and Genji felt the need to back away. He suddenly looked threatening, even if nothing had changed in his polite demeanor.

“It works the other way around, too. And it's something I never wanted to subject anyone to”. That fleeting impression of hardness faded from Zenyatta’s face, and he looked like a boy wise beyond his years again. “Still, I can sense there's something broken inside you. I would never use my powers on someone unwilling, but since apparently Overwatch is my new home, I'll be happy to help you find your peace again. When you're ready”.

Genji laughed with bitterness and shook his head.

“Can you turn back time or make me human? If not, I fear there's not much you can do for me”. He spoke in a harsh tone, and when he realized how much he'd sounded like Hanzo it was as if his wounds opened and bled again. To his surprise, Zenyatta didn't look offended. He reached out and gently took Genji’s hands.

“All in due time, my friend. Each of us will find his own light, in the end”.

 

 

It took Genji a week to leave the bed, and three to be judged suitable for his training. To discover those wings were good for something.

Two months before he emerged from his despair long enough to join the rest of the team in the mess room. Six months to tell Zenyatta – and nobody else – his story, and eight to kiss him. He'd expected his lips to taste like incense and mysteries, but Zen was all apple pie and coffee, and Genji loved him for that.

Only after one year of dark resentment he accepted his lover’s offer of help, and his heart crushed and drowned in tears – hot and burning, they tasted like Hanzo’s untold lifetime of obeying and hidden suffering, of terrible mistakes and the weight of an unbearable responsibility,

Another year to find the strength to accept and pronounce one single word – forgiveness.

And then, two years and a half after the world he'd known since he was a child had been yanked from beneath him, even the new one he'd started to build in Overwatch crumbled into pieces.

 

˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜

 

Colonel Sharon Hillridge, in her thirty-two years of serving in the army, had never grown accustomed to one single detail of her career: her uniform.

Beyond the pride of wearing her nation’s color lay the ever-nagging sensation of feeling constricted, the immaculate white shirt and black jacket a threat to her freedom of movement, the tie an unnecessary wink to classic elegance.

She missed the days of camo and boots, the certainty of being able to sneak and stealth at her own need and her superiors’ commands.

Still, every role needed its mask, and she was resigned to wearing this one with all the dignity she could muster – and she was perfectly aware it was a great deal of dignity.

In this warm day of April it felt even worse. By sheer willpower, she stopped herself from sliding to fingers in her collar to tug it off her neck, and she was sure there were sweat stains under her arms, had she taken her decorated jacket off. But if there’d ever been a moment her uniform was something to show off, it was this.

For two hours, colonel Hillridge had been pacing back and forth in front of the closed door, eagerly waiting for the outcome of the most important meeting of the last months.

That, and a not even remotely subtle desire for a confrontation that filled her head with snarky replies she was impatient to snap.

Fortunately for her, her rank and the aura of stern authority radiating from her persona were enough to keep any passer-by at bay, or, to be more precise, to scare everyone into a respectful “Good day, Colonel” before hurrying away.

For the umpteenth time she checked her watch, a cold steel thing wrapped around her wrist.

How could they not be done yet? This could mean two things: they were defining details, or the whole project was doomed. And if the latter hypothesis chilled her to the bone, a roaring voice in her head rejoiced at the forecast of someone else’s demise.

Oh, the look on that disgusting pale face after he’d seen years of research thrown out of the window made her skin tingle with excitement.  
  
But no, she told herself. No matter how impatient she was to have her petty revenge, she had to consider the Registration Act’s goals first. And that meant swallowing down any frustration in favor of a compromise that could benefit the whole nation.  
  
God knew how much she loathed compromises.  
  
A rustling of papers and the scratching of chairs pulled back tore her from her thoughts. She stiffened her already stiff enough back and put on her cold, professional smile. Little she could do to silence the humming of blood in her ears as her pressure built up.  
  
The door opened and released a long row of people in white lab coats and elegant suits. Colonel Hillridge acknowledged most of their respectful greetings with nothing more than a nod, and the faces of the scientific board melted into a pale blur of nothingness in front of her.  
  
She didn’t care about a single one of them, pathetic strawmen unaware of the grandeur of their project.  
  
_Their_. She hated the word even more than she despised compromises and uniforms.  
  
One by one the procession of people paraded in front of her, until one last figure was left in the meeting room. She squared her shoulders, brushed her lapels with nonchalant fingers and walked in.  
  
Somehow, seeing that brat of Elias Dreschner pat some papers in a neat pile and readjust the pens on the crystal table so that they were exactly in front of the empty glasses made her blood pressure shot to the ceiling. When the young doctor turned to look at her with his freckled face and faded eyes, she closed the door behind her. There were red patches on his skinny cheeks.  
  
“So, my dear dr. Drescher”, she said with a grin. “Did they make you pull down your pants to spank you, or did you just got away with a scolding and a slap on your hands?”  
  
“I wish I could say it’s a pleasure to meet you, Colonel, but as a scientist, I dwell into truth”. He got up in his tall and lanky frame and brushed back his already perfectly combed ginger hair. “Are you here to gloat?”  
  
“Who? _Me_?” She opened her eyes wide and placed her hand on her chest in a great display of outrage. “And for what? Because you’re the one who threw that old incident in my division in my face – ‘I’m not the one who let samples escape, _boohoo_ ’ – and now you’re in my exact same situation?” She took a step forward, and even if she was rather smaller than the man she knew how easily she could crush his bones. “How many of your folks died in the attack?”  
  
Dreschner blushed some more; he let the papers on the table and clenched his long hands into shaky fists.  
  
“Since you already know the answer, having checked the reports three times, this whole conversation is pointless”. He picked up his documents again and walked to the door, but colonel Hillridge stopped him, springing her arm to her side.  
  
“It burns, doesn’t it? Having to hide your research from the public eye and at the same time needing the approval of the board. Their money… ah, and you dare speak to me about _truth_ !”  
  
Dreschner gritted his teeth and shot her a furious glare.  
  
“What do you want from me, you harpy?”  
  
“What did they tell you?”  
  
“Let me go”.  
  
“Not before you give me the answer I want to hear”.  
  
He rolled his eyes and his thin mouth twitched.  
  
“Yes. They’re funding us once more, but it’s the last time”. He picked a pen from the front pocket of his lab coat and rolled it between his fingers. “They want results”.  
  
“And we shall provide them”. Not even under the threat of torture – and she knew more than she liked to admit about how effective some interrogation strategies could be – she would have admitted it, but something inside her gave in at the news. They were back on track, ready to resume the research, and if those results required her to suffer the presence of that parody of a scientist then be it. She’d endured worse. “I expect you to submit your action plan by tomorrow morning. Where will the labs be? How many mutants can you find me? No screaming freaks for once, I need something useful before we put them to sleep, I…”  
  
Dead, cold blue eyes – the feature she despised the most in her unwilling colleague, big and round and with little to no lashes - scanned her face.  
  
“Expect me to put strychnine in your coffee if you keep on treating me like one of your dumb recruits, my dear. If you…”  
  
Before Hillridge could let the fuse of her temper burn into an explosion of fury, a soft knock on the door caused them both to turn around.  
  
“Dr. Dreschner? I’m sorry to bother you, but I brought you the files you asked me”, said an annoyingly sweet voice from the hall. Dreschner raised his thin eyebrows and gestured to the door.  
  
“If you’ll excuse me…”  
  
Colonel Hillridge suppressed a growl and dropped her arm. Dreschner walked past her and opened the door to reveal his useless assistant, a small woman with a round face, auburn hair and eyes always cast on the floor.  
  
“Clementine, I don’t know where I’d be weren’t it for you”, he greeted her with a smile that revolted Hillridge’s stomach. “What do we have here?”  
  
“The authorization you asked me, doctor. And there’s a call from professor Waters from Yale, in case you’re interested in speaking during a series of conferences”.  
  
“That would be a good strike, am I right? But unfortunately, it would require too much of my time, of which I have already too little”. He shook his head theatrically. “Science is a jealous mistress”.  
  
Clementine smiled on command and didn’t spare Hillridge a single look.  
  
“I told him I’d call him back with your answer, but I already informed him you’re really busy at the moment”.  
  
“I knew I could count on you, my dear… so, Colonel, if we’re done with our little conversation, I have work to do”.  
  
She pursed her lips and forced her hands not to clench at her sides. She even managed a smile that probably looked more like a sneer.  
  
“As I’ve told you already, I need those details I asked you. If we’re to work together”, _and I’d rather drink piss than to depend on you, but we need each other_ , “we must be cooperative”.  
  
Dreschner grinned subtly before turning his back on her.  
  
“And we will be. Have a nice day, madam”.


	3. Guilt and regret

[ Guilt and regret ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yvHUtOf9F98)

 

It was easy to let San Angeles swallow you. All you needed was to leave your name behind, keep your head low and forget everything.

The man that used to be Hanzo Shimada was good at this all. The city was the usual blur of black and bright neon lights, and as he walked the lowest level of the slums, no one spared him a look, except for a couple of sex workers at the crossroads, who waved at him and blew him kisses.

He didn't care – about the two people trying to get his attention, about the homeless man rambling in the middle of the trafficked road, about anything. He hadn't been caring for over two years, and things didn't look like they were going to change anytime soon.

A black hood was pulled on his head, hiding the hair he'd shaved on the sides and cut to his shoulders the day he'd left the Shimada Tower, never to look back. A duffel bag slung over his back contained his few belongings, hidden under layers of black, anonymous clothes. A gun, a fake ID that proved he was Mr. Tetsuo Aoki, half a bottle of whiskey he kept for the worst nights. And to be honest, in the last months he'd only had those kinds of nights. Hanzo couldn't remember the last time he'd gone to sleep without fearing for his life, or of being found and dragged back home. He'd been hungry and scared more often than he dared to admit, and the only thing left of the noble heir of the Shimada family – his pride – kept him from asking his father’s help or withdrawing money from his accounts. Better starve and soil his self-esteem with unimportant, dirty jobs as a bodyguard or thug than facing Sojiro’s questions and disappointment.

Better close his eyes every night hoping to never wake up than explaining what he'd done to Genji.

As always, the mere mention of his brother’s name was enough to contract his muscles and infuse his bones with the urge of running away. Just like he'd done one hour after the Federals had taken Genji away.

It was a Friday night, stuffed with the frenzy of people going back home after a day of work or out for a night of drinking, and general chaos. Hanzo didn't mind the many bumps against his shoulder, aware they were not meant for him. He was just another face in the crowd, and if no one bothered to acknowledge him as anything more than a shadow on the littered pavement, he was satisfied to do the same.

In those two years not a soul had suspected his true identity, and why should them? He was such a pathetic specimen it was nearly impossible to connect him to the lost heir of the Shimada empire – disappeared in such mysterious circumstances even the media had stopped investigating.

A rat darted from a gutter, small feet and pointy nose covered in piss-drenched black fur. Hanzo froze on the sidewalk and watched the critter disappear in the darkness: had he wanted to, he could have caught the beast with a movement of his hand. He hated to know this – he hated this, and himself every day more.

He stared at the stinking alley from under his hood, clenching his fists in the long black sleeves. Had he rolled them up to his wrists, an infinity of minute scars would have revealed his shame. He was as meticulous in plucking his scales as he was in clipping his wings – and as usual, his shoulders prickled where the bone and muscles stumps were stubbornly growing, even if it had been just two days since he'd chopped them off – but they kept on coming back, and they were more, and they were everywhere on his left arm and side of the chest.

With every passing day, he was less of a man and more of a monster. The bitter irony of the situation stretched his lips into a sneer that was nothing like a smile. He sunk his hands deeper into his pockets and lowered his head, following his feet to the nowhere they were leading him to. A motel room, smelling of stale smoke and cheap perfume strong enough to give him a headache, but not to cover the stench of old piss and vomit. That, too, was appropriate.

He turned in a secondary street and passed, as so many nights before, in front of a dusty shop selling old televisions. The neons spelling a name in Cyrillic letters were half off, and the other half shone a depressing, dirty red.

A dozen screens were blinking at him from the shop windows, and Hanzo didn't spare them a single look. He slowly walked in front of the shop, avoiding the few people passing by as the polite, synthetic voice of the speaker rang from the TVs.

He didn't care, right?

He didn't care. Until he _did_.

Words fell into the emptiness of his soul – a void he'd carefully created to keep pain and regret at bay after he'd lost Genji – and stopped him three steps after the shop.

“ _… after almost ten years of fight against cancer. Sojiro Shimada, head of the infamous software and communications company, was 65, and…”_

Hanzo didn't even lift his eyes from the battered tip of his boots and felt shock fill him like cold water. The world blurred and his lashes trembled.

“ _A lifetime of success and tragedies, with the loss of his wife and his younger son Genji when the boy was only ten, and the more recent disappearance of the eldest one, Hanzo Shimada, still missing after more than two years...”_

A second voice interrupted the speaker. A debate?

_“Of course we can only hope Shimada Jr. is somewhere safe and sound, but this would mean he's left his father to die alone, and I can only imagine what this…”_

His body moved faster than his thoughts, harder than his shattering emotions. Hanzo ran in front of the shop, and his hand shot forth. A roar slashed his throat, shards of glass his knuckles, his wrist, his forearm. Tears were clinging to his eyelashes, dangling there as if they didn't dare to fall properly, and the polite voices from the screens were still there – babbling, ranting about the rise and fall of the Shimada industries, of lost loves and other meaningless idiocies. Words that fell around Hanzo like the scarlet droplets of blood dripping on the asphalt. Strength abandoned him and he staggered backward, hitting a lamppost with his shoulders.

Dead. His father was dead, and he'd never known he was still alive. Or that he was an abomination. A mutant, a traitor to his own blood.

His father was dead and he was alone as he'd never been before.

“What the fuck… hey, you! You, there, asshole!” The clerk stepped out of the door, yelling and pointing at Hanzo. He couldn't really see him, he was just a dark smudge at the corners of his despair. “Were you trying to steal or…”

Hanzo looked at his own hands, stained in red and burning. His skin sucked the crimson trickles back, the wounds closed under his eyes.

A rough fist clasped on the front of his jacket.

The clerk. Again.

“I'm talking to you, you son of a…”

He was a teen or little more, with acne and oily blond hair sticking to his low brow, and with more courage than brains. Still, the moment his eyes met Hanzo’s, he realized his mistake. He let go of him and stepped back, muttering something about a misunderstanding and those filthy mutants trying to steal his boss’ stuff.

Hanzo wasn't listening. He walked from the anchor-men still giving more details about his father’s death, and then some more, taking a wrong turn and sliding into the darkness. He walked and suddenly he was running, tears he couldn't shed choking him, his brain and heart ringing with the same, desperate need to finish this once and for all.

Deep down he knew he lacked the guts to put his gun to his head and pull the trigger, or to jump from the tallest point he could reach. This, though, was not going to prevent him from seeking the black numbness of whatever substance he could put his hands in.

It took him too long.

Too long to find the right piece of shit who could sell him a synthetic, disgusting surrogate of benzodiazepines.

Too long to chug down his whiskey, retching with every sip that burned his throat and nose and eyes. Too long to open the container with shaky hands and pour a dozen white pills in his palm, and even more to swallow them down without throwing up. And too long, lying in a damp corner of a nameless alley, to lose consciousness.

Too long. Prey to his memories and regrets, until darkness claimed him.

 

 

˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜

 

 

The news had reached him even in Overwatch’s hideout, and Genji couldn't untangle his emotions enough to feel anything at all.

Sitting cross-legged on the floor of the empty training room, his heart ached and his brain buzzed. Zenyatta, in front of him, reached forward and took his hands. The gentle squeeze was enough to make Genji raise his head to meet wise, kind golden eyes.

“Everyone will be telling you they're sorry for your loss, my love. Will you let me help you?”

“I… I don't know, Zen. My father is dead, and I feel like my grief is buried under a blanket of _something_ ”. He sighed deeply and fidgeted with Zenyatta’s long fingers in his lap. “These last months have been so hard, I'm drained and… it is wrong. _I_ am wrong, I should be crying or…”

Zenyatta leaned forward and softly kissed his forehead. The smell of his skin, something clean Genji couldn't quite identify, calmed him a bit.

“Gabriel leaving the family has troubled us all. The time I spent with him here showed me what an exceptional kind of man he was, and of course you mourn the departure of such a figure, too”. His slender hands cupped Genji’s face and his eyes looked suddenly brighter. “Please, dearest. Let me”.

It was for the best, and Genji nodded wearily. Zenyatta’s power had been essential to his healing process, and now he needed him even more. He took a deep breath and leaned into the fresh touch, trying to find the core of his being in the middle of the turmoil of his soul.

He closed his eyes and knew what was happening in front of him – Zenyatta finding his concentration, his brown skin sparkling like gold particles in a river, and his eyes shining white. It had been terrifying the first time, and even now it was not an easy journey, but he trusted his companion with his life.

And once more, pain came in the form of memories. He was back to that day, weeks before, when the rift between Gabe and Jack had become unamendable.

_“And whose fault is it if we're not getting any result from our inquiries?”_

_“Are you accusing me, Gabe?_ Me _? You know how much I've been through, how…”_

_“Fuck off, Jack! Of course I'm accusing you – of being lax, of being too stiff to acknowledge we're beating a dead horse… we've been hiding for too long!”_

_“So tell me you plan, would you? Outing our team and spitting in the face of God knows what representative ‘you're doing experiments on mutants! Sorry, we have no proofs, just believe us’?”_

_“You're turning this into your personal crusade to get your revenge against the army and…”_

_How angered Jack’s voice sounded – his rough, cold tones rising into a growl the whole base listened to, shocked._

_“It is! And it should be yours too! You used to be with me, what happened to you? To_ us _?”_

_A desperate laugh, the thump of a fist hitting a wall._

_“So you're using my love for you against me? This is a new low for your standards, honey. While you stay here and overthink about the location of Dreschner’s new playground or Hillridge’s latest crazy idea of a super soldier, people_ die _!” Gabe snorted, his voice even lower in a grumbling menace. “If I didn't know you better, Jack Morrison, love of my life, pain in my ass, I'd say you care more about your principles than the people in this base. I'd even say you didn't care if they got killed or…”_

_A choking sound interrupted the sentence._

_“Take it back, Gabriel, or…”_

_“Or_ what _? You'll kill me? Good luck with that…”_

The angry voices became a distant echo in Genji’s memory, a soundtrack to the scene playing in his memory – Gabe on the door, his mask on, his whole body clenched in bitterness.

He'd left Overwatch, hiding any reaction Angela’s tears or Winston’s prayer for another chance could have elicited. He’d left, taking Sombra (“He saved me and you all would have left me to die. Better with him than here”) and Amélie (she'd said nothing and felt nothing, only stared blankly at the group before taking her rifle and walking away) with him. McCree hadn't said a word, hard as stone, his dark eyes narrowed and a low snarl down his throat.

Jack hadn't even been there.

The scene slowly faded, leaving Genji with a handful of explanations - he'd felt betrayed by everyone, by Gabe for leaving and Jack for not telling him to stay, and even more for having been opposed to his rescue; he'd decided to stay in Overwatch for Zenyatta, who he loved in a way that made his heart whisper of peace and light instead of nightmares and loneliness, but also because he had friends there. He had Lena and Lúcio, he had Winston’s wisdom and Angela’s common sense. McCree didn't follow Gabe as well, even if Genji knew something of how important he man was for him, and one day they all woke up to find his room empty. All his belongings were gone, and only a lingering smell of smoke and a scribbled note on the mattress were left.

_‘Sorry, can't stay here anymore. Won't follow Gabe in this madness but here doesn't feel like home anymore’._

How silent and empty the headquarters had been after they'd all left, but they had a job to do, even if it looked pointless, and Jack grew more bitter with every passing day.

Genji, still immersed in Zenyatta’s trance, looked at his feelings, all laid in front of him – rage and loneliness and fear – and suddenly a face formed behind his closed lids.

His father. The smile he had only for Genji, veined with guilt and concern, the way his eyes crinkled when he looked at him and the useless pride for everything his younger son did – but not for what he _was_.

Tears stung his eyes and Genji swallowed them down. His father, who would come and embrace him during the first months of his imprisonment, when he'd felt broken and desperate, and then not anymore when despair had given way to resignation. Sojiro Shimada had been a busy man, and it had been easy to mask his change of behavior as business calling him, and later as his health not allowing him much time with his boy.

His _sparrow_ \- he'd always been that, a winged, caged creature.

And then his father’s pained face twisted and changed. Same cheekbones, but longer, darker hair, stern eyes that could glimmer with irony in the least expected moments. Genji let out a small gasp, and Zenyatta tightened his grip on his face.

“Say it, my love, and we stop this”. His usually soft voice rang as deep as a great bell, and Genji only squeezed his eyes and shook his head.

Hanzo was looking at him from his memories. A teen three year his senior who had sacrificed long afternoons with his friends to stay with him, who had listened ceaselessly to his troubles without complaining. His brother, his only friend – his family, broken and confused as he was, mislead and alone.

This time tears overflowed on his cheeks and another piece of the puzzle settled into place. He barely realized he was crying, or how Zenyatta let his power down and took him in his arms, cradling him and whispering in Nepali in his ear.

Overwatch – the band he had learned to call family – falling to pieces. His true family gone.

He wept for his father, a clean, pure form of grief that cleared his heart from any resentment for the man who had kept him prisoner for reasons he thought good, and he wept for Hanzo, his lost brother now shedding tears alone in the middle of nowhere, and for himself and all he’d been through.

It was so obvious, so simple…

He sniffed and pulled back from Zenyatta’s embrace. The look each other in the eye for a long moment, and Zenyatta's fingers traced the path of tears on Genji’s skin, down to the scales on his throat.

“Thank you”, he murmured.

“I love you. There's not a thing I wouldn't do to make you feel better, Genji”. He lifted his chin with two fingers and kissed him slowly, giving him the time to recollect himself.

It worked. It always did – nothing in the world soothed Genji's heart more than that kind of kiss, and eventually he sighed, calmer.

“What would I do without you… listen, Zen, there's something I must do. Now, before I lose my determination”.

The smile on Zenyatta's lips held a hint of steel, and Genji remembered that the young man before him was much more than a sweet and caring companion.

“I can see it in your eyes: it's important, I won't let you lose your determination”.

Genji smiled back and straightened his back, stretching his wings to their fullest.

“I need to find my brother”.

 

 

The rest of the day was filled with his friends’ displays of sympathy and care.

A rough pat on the back from Jack, a long, heartfelt speech on loss and its elaboration from Winston; Lena had hugged him so hard his back had creaked and hadn't let him go for long minutes, while Angela had offered him a shoulder to cry on and some sleeping pills. She hadn’t approved of Lúcio’s idea – two grams of the best weed he'd ever had and a night of the worst trash movies they could download – but in the end, sitting on an old, tattered sofa with Zenyatta half laying in his lap, Lúcio at his left and Lena on the ground in front of him, laughing so hard he couldn't have told when he'd started to cry, he knew things were going to get better.

He'd expected it all, to be honest. His father had been ill, and the best doctors in the world had done their best for many years. He'd expected his friends’ closeness and Zenyatta's unfaltering support.

There was a single thing he hadn’t expected, and it materialized as he headed staggering to the bathroom.

His head felt light and his face hurt for the excessive utilization of his cheeks’ muscles, be it to sob or laugh, and recently his bladder had signaled him it had reached its maximum capacity. Unstable on his bare feet, Genji reached the toilet and took a long piss, and when he walked back to the tv room, it took him a second too long to realize there was someone in the middle of the corridor.

He quickly gathered his senses and years of training – he could very well kill a man with his bare hands, but his brain refused to cooperate. A series of ‘who are you’ and ‘how the fuck did you get here’ rolled in his head, but when a red ember sparkled in the darkness he tensed.

“McCree?”

Genji fumbled with the switch on the wall, and when the white dancing lights invaded the corridor, he saw that the months on the road hadn't been kind on McCree.

“Howdy, man?” He asked, tipping the cowboy hat on his head. His face was unusually pale, there were dark circles under his eyes, and his bushy beard did little to hide the collection of scars and scratches on his skin. He cleared his throat and shrugged, making the red serape around his shoulders flutter. “Sorry, bad choice of words. ‘Course you're feeling like shit. Heard ‘bout your da and…”

“McCree, what are you doing here?” His voice trembled, and maybe it was the overemotional day, maybe it was his grief waking up again, or maybe he was just too happy to see his friend, but tears swelled again in his eyes.

McCree took his hat off and ruffled his hair. His head was bent so low Genji saw the serum pump on his neck was still in its place. A good sign.

“Told ya, heard yer old one passed away and… and I thought you… I mean, I don't leave my pals alone in their worst times. Even if comin’ back here was…”

Destiny operates in mysterious ways, and as Genji took McCree into a quick, strong embrace, he felt another piece find its place in the puzzle of his mind.

“Thank you, McCree. I'm so glad you're here…”

It was true, and McCree was always more than happy to do something for a friend in need - especially listening to Genji's words and newly discovered determination. As soon as he'd understood the nature of Genji's request, whispered to his ear in a corner far from the rest of Overwatch, he'd been less so.

“… it’s a matter of revenge, right?” He'd asked, looking at Genji with his eyes wide and his eyebrows high on his forehead. “Sure you don't want him back”.

“I do, and not for revenge. Hanzo is my brother and all the family I've left, and I need your help”.

McCree’s face darkened, and he suddenly looked similar to the creature Genji had seen in so many missions. His eyes shone dangerously.

“So yer askin’ me to find the bastard who sold you and who's probably working with the feds for…”

“ _He's not_. Don't ask me how I know this, but I do”. He ran his hand through his hair, still green as they used to be, and sighed. “He's not a mutant so he's not filed, he's gone missing years ago and I thought that maybe you…”

“I ain't no hound”, he snarled, but the rage in his voice faded quickly. He sat on the floor and took his hat off. “I'm not here to stay, I… have things to do…”

“But you dropped them all to come here to comfort a mourning friend”. Genji sat at his side. “Why?”

McCree sighed and looked away. Now that they were nearer Genji saw that he looked thinner, his face sharper. “Because I missed home, alright? Still, it’s not home anymore without Gabe, and the others wouldn't welcome me”.

“I wouldn't be so sure. You're still part of the team, we missed you too, and don't think we didn't understand your reasons”.

After a small chuckle, McCree looked at him. A spark of his old humor appeared in his gaze.

“The prodigal son, right?”

“More or less”.

Another sigh, and he ruffled Genji's hair.

“I'm sorry ‘bout your father. I know how hard it is to lose someone you'd been looking up to, and…”

“That's why I must find Hanzo. He's always been my role model, and in times such as these, we must stick together. If there's anyone who could help me that's you. What do you think?”

This too was true. McCree’s gift (or curse, depending on the point of view) made him exceptional in finding missing people. Genji knew how hard it was to accept this request, but waited patiently as McCree lighted another cigarette and smoked in silence.

And then his barking laughter reverberated in the silence.

“Deal. Let's put my powers to a good use, then”.

 

 

˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜

 

 

Hanzo wished he didn't remember the last days, but luck hadn't been on his side recently. Every now and then he'd woken up to a chill in his bones that had nothing to do with the warm air around him, with a burning stomach and a buzzing head scrambling his memories. He lived and breathed as if through a stained glass, chugging down every drop of alcohol he could lay his hands on and cursing loud when the last pill had fallen from the orange plastic tube.

So drunk and stoned he didn't even remember properly why he was being such an idiot – sleeping in the streets, reeking of sweat and dirt like a hobo, confused to the point of no return.

He knew there were people around him, voices laughing and chatting, feet passing by his slumped body, ignoring him. His face couldn't work, nor could his mouth or tongue, were it to curse the strangers or ask for the help he needed and didn't want. Didn't deserve, probably.

That was why he barely reacted when a muffled cry resonated somewhere above him. Hanzo squinted – though he didn't really realize he'd closed his eyes – but couldn't make out the vast figure in front of him. It was blurred, and no, it was not as huge as he'd thought. A pale face, gold and blue shining in the small hands that cupped his face and forced him to look up.

But Hanzo couldn't cooperate – not that he had any intention to, anyway, but the faint glow from the stranger’s fingers seemed to seep under his clothes and his skin, making him wince.

The sensation was not unpleasant, unfortunately: it was as if the raging nausea tingling in his jaws, his long-time companion in those last days, was being drained off him. He tried to blink, but his head still felt far gone.

“I can't believe this is the Shimada asshole”. A growl, cold and nervous.

“And yet it could really be him - I'm pretty sure he is, actually”. This was a woman's voice, trembling just a little. This same woman tried to pry his eyelid open, and Hanzo fought her with a pathetic wave of his hand. “He won't die immediately, but there's only so much I can do in the streets. Has anyone noticed us yet?”

“Nope”, that grumbling voice again, carrying along the smell of burning tobacco. “So what now, doc? Shall I carry the bastard bride-style to the headquarters?”

The woman stood up and her words sounded far away.

“He's got no broken bones or head trauma, so you can carry him however you like, Jesse. I don't like him either, but Genji…”

_Genji?_

Hanzo’s eyes shot open and he lost the rest of the sentence. Was he dreaming that too, that two strangers were fussing about him and speaking his brother’s name?

Yet he couldn't focus on anything – only small details that hit his consciousness like arrows. The careless strength of the hands sliding around his torso, the glimmer of embers in the shadows over a massive body. And above those embers, the eyes of a predator. Hard, cold, they dug into his very soul before Hanzo found himself hauled on his feet without a trace of kindness.

“Up you go, you motherfucker. Be glad your brother is a better person than you and us all together”.

_His name. My brother. They know, he lives, what's happening?_

But every word and question got lost in the chaotic buzz of his head, and soon even the sensation of being dragged along the streets of San Angeles faded to black.

He came back to himself in another world, out of space and time. It was the soft sound of a door being gently closed what snatched him from the dreamless sleep he'd fallen into, and he was suddenly awake, skipping the groggy and sleepy phase.

Hanzo waited, his breath carefully schooled into a slow rhythm and his body completely still, until he was sure he was alone. No sounds in the room, no footsteps or voices in the distance, just him and his quickening heartbeat. He sat up sharply, more alert than he could have expected, and squinted in the flickering light.

A small, cramped room, housing just the cot he was standing on and a black plastic chair. The metal door on the wall was closed, the stained glass cracked but showing no hint of human presence.

 _Where am I?_ He wondered to himself, and immediately after _why am I feeling so good?_

As in reply to his doubts, a subtle sickness crept upon him. Oh, of course there were no bruises on his body, and for some weird reasons – not so weird, considering the IV stuck in his right arm – the effects of drugs and alcohol were not as heavy as he'd have imagined; still, there was little he could do against guilt and memories.

 _My father is dead, I betrayed my brother and I've been captured – and Genji is here, wherever_ here _is._

He clenched his jaws and ran an unsteady hand down his face. As he turned around, he found there was a sink by the wall, a chapped old thing with a rusty tap and a broken mirror above it. Hanzo stared at his own reflection and couldn't really recognize himself, with deep dark shadows under his eyes and hollow cheeks covered in an unacceptable shaggy beard. His mouth twisted in disgust for himself and he averted his eyes, a gesture that made him notice, and for real this time, the needle sticking from his right forearm.

A thin layer of sweat bloomed on his forehead and he patted his chest – yes, he was still wearing the dirty black hoodie of the last days, and its left sleeve was pulled down to cover his wrist and half of his hand, but he shook with the necessity to check. He rolled the sleeve up with trembling fingers and found the minute indentures of his scars; each already sported a faint blue shade, like small bruises. Or, more precisely, the prodromes of a brand-new set of scales ready to pierce his skin.

His mouth felt suddenly dry, his eyes losing focus again. Whoever had brought him here hadn't bothered to undress him, but what if they'd noticed…? He snatched the IV from his arm and ignored the sting of burning, the slow trickle of a single droplet of blood down his wrist, for it lasted no longer than a couple of seconds. The skin quickly closed on the small wound and he was free to writhe on the cot until he could throw his arms behind his back and fumble to touch his shoulder blades.

There they were – a sharp edge, more pronounced than he'd expected, bulging under the thick layers of his clothes and the bandages he'd tightly wrapped around his torso.

His wings were back, and he had no way to get rid of them here, no time to waste before they became too big to conceal them as he waited for the right moment to cut them off again.

And what if that moment was never to come, while he was kept prisoner?

A small, fastidious voice spoke from the bottom of his soul.

_Are you planning to run away, aren't you?_

Hanzo threw his legs off the cot and stood up. The absence of any trace of residual drug effects unsettled him, as if he was skipping a much-deserved punishment, but he did his best to be practical. His bag was right under the chair, untouched, and as he crouched to quickly rummage inside it he found even his gun hadn't been taken away.

A dry grin trembled on his lips – _fools_. His captors were nothing but fools.

He grabbed the bag and slung it over his shoulders, but then the voice in his head spoke again.

_Genji is here, and you know this is not a lie. The people who brought you here mentioned him not knowing you could hear them, and they know you're his brother. In case you missed it, it sounded like it was him who wanted you here – and don't you owe him at least an apology?_

Shaking his head in furious denial only made him queasy; Hanzo put his hand on the wall to steady himself, his eyes resolutely shut.

No, of course not. If Genji was here indeed – if he wasn't dead or imprisoned by the government, and both options sounded more rational than the suggestions of his inner voice – of course he only wanted to spit his resentment in Hanzo’s face. Why else would have he sent anyone to look for him right after their father’s death? The memory stung, and the sense of loss Hanzo had carefully buried under pills and alcohol surfaced again.

Once more he shook his head to banish doubts and fears, and resolutely took for the door. It was open, and it didn't surprise him, having heard no click of keys when the previous visitor had left, and he slid out making no noise.

The corridor was a damp, dark place with half a dozen light bulbs dangling from a moldy ceiling among rusty tubes. Only two were working, and they cast a bleak light on the puddles on the concrete floor. Hanzo stood a moment on the threshold, listening to the air and only detecting a faraway dripping of water in the silence.

He took a deep breath and tiptoed away, stubbornly ignoring his conscience blaming him for the continuous betrayal to his brother. He banned whatever picture of Genji would form in his head – be it his smile or the broken look in his eyes the moment the Feds had got him – and clenched his teeth.

Out. He needed to be out as soon as possible, before someone found out what he was. For good or bad, his place was in the streets now, and he didn't know how he would react to his past being thrown in his face.

Or his name.

To that, the reply came soon enough, when he hadn't walked halfway down the corridor yet.

It was still deadly quiet, if not for the muffled sound of his own steps, when something fell on his shoulder. The ferocious instinct of the fighter Hanzo'd always been, tempered by two years of battle for his dear life after his escape, moved his muscles. He dropped the bag and grabbed the hand crushing his shoulder. He was ready to twist his fingers in a quick movement and push the assailant to his knees, to kick him unconscious and run – he was less ready for the smooth, cold sensation of metal under his fingertips.

“Well well, lil’ Shimada tryina sneak out”. That voice… as Hanzo, to his supreme humilation, was the one being pushed down and forward against the wall, he recognized the low, snarling tones. Still gripping the stranger’s wrist, as if he could cause him any trouble, he moaned and distinctly felt his collarbone sting under the pressure.

“Let me go”, he growled, looking sideways along the steel hand and arm holding him prisoner. All he could see above what looked like a very refined prosthesis was a blur of black.

“Nope”. A last squeeze that forced Hanzo to swallow a wail, and the man indeed let go, but only to make Hanzo turn around and grab him by the front of his hoodie.

Slammed against the wall so hard his teeth chattered, Hanzo could see his adversary, and he didn't like him a bit.

First, he was tall and built, even if the sharp cheekbones and his frayed black clothes – some kind of cloak over a t-shirt, jeans, and boots - suggested he'd been through some hard times. Second, and worse, when he bared his teeth in Hanzo's face, they were not teeth at all. Or so it seemed for a moment, as a whole set of fangs glimmered among a bushy beard.

“Ain’t goin’ anywhere, sugar”, the stranger hissed in his face, and Hanzo smelled smoke in his breath. What was now wrapped around his throat was a flesh hand, and somehow it didn't seem weaker or softer than its metal twin. He tried to sneak his fingers under the clenched fist and obtained nothing from his struggle, so he opted for a different strategy – a well-placed kick.

Useless, again, because the man pressed against him with his whole bulk, making any attempt at a close-range attack a failure.

“You can call me McCree, Shimada, or not call me at all for what I care”. That fucking bastard was grinning now, and as he gasped for air Hanzo realized his teeth were normal, not as sharp as he'd thought just seconds before. He hissed and opened his mouth, but only a choked grunt came out. “Now I'm gonna step back and yer not gonna be a jerk, ‘cause I'm just waitin’ for the right chance to make you pay for what you did. Got it?”

Hanzo replied with his most venomous stare, but he quite needed to breathe right now, so he was actually relieved when McCree removed his hand from his neck. He forgot dignity for a moment and slumped forward, coughing and feeling his face catch fire.

McCree hunched forward to look him in the eye, and Hanzo, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, stood up and bore his stare.

“So yer the piece of shit who sold Genji to the Men in Black”, he said with such a lethal amusement in his voice that Hanzo wished he'd had his gun by him. “You look bad”.

“So you are one of them”, he replied in the same tone, and how hoarse he sounded, both from his recent brutal treatment and the long time he'd been silent in the last days. He didn't want to speak and got no one to talk to.

McCree smiled some more, and maybe it was a trick of the lights of some chemical aftermath, but Hanzo was once more sure there were fangs behind his lips.

“ _Them_ ? If you mean a mutant, then yeah, I am. And you are one of the others – those who think us just beasts to be branded and kept in a safe place, lest we might hurt some of your precious kind”. He stepped closer and kicked Hanzo’s bag away. “One of the _humans_ ”, he ended with as much contempt as words could bear.

“Where am I? Why am I kept prisoner?” He asked, trying to ignore the mixture of white-hot anger flowing through him and the need for some blessed oblivion.

“Yer in no position to ask questions, buddy. Consider yerself lucky Genji is a good man, or I'd have left you to rot in the gutter where I found you…”

This time, at yet another mention of his brother, Hanzo snapped. He aimed a punch at McCree’s mouth, but forgot to consider that, for how little he felt it, he'd been heavily drugged and unconscious for an undefined time. Not the best athletic preparation. A surge of shame made his face burn when McCree's prosthetics caught his hand and tightened just enough to make his knuckles creak.

“Look, darlin’, I get it, yer really impatient to get hurt and I couldn't care less ‘bout your wicked plans for the future, but I won't betray a friend’s trust”, and he pushed him away with such an emphasis on the last sentence Hanzo wanted to kick him even more.

“Alright. Very well”, he said in the end, opening his arms. “So what now? If you're done with this display of testosterone I expect you to tell me…”

“Yer here, alive and well, 'cause your own fuckin’ brother wanted to find you and give you a second chance”. The boorish mask slid from McCree’s face, leaving him even more dangerous and, curiously, looking younger than Hanzo had expected. “Yer not welcome here, yer not like us – worse even, you're exactly like those we’re fightin’. I don't think you deserved this chance, or a brother who loves you enough to pick you up from the streets and look upon ya for a whole night”.

Genji. It had been Genji the one who'd left the moment Hanzo had woken up. His heart skipped a beat and an unwanted warmth spread under his skin. He impatiently brushed it off to look at McCree with unfaltering fury.

“And what are you supposed to be, mutant? My guardian? My sheepdog?”

Something flickered in McCree’s eyes – they were a light brown, and for a second Hanzo thought he'd seen the pupils blow to black hollows and the iris shine a golden yellow – and he closed his fists.

“Call me ‘dog’ again, Shimada, and not even Genji will stop me from tying your backbone into a knot”. A drop of cold sweat ran down Hanzo's spine; McCree was impressive enough, but the colder and more serious he got, the scarier he was, even with no need to show his muscles. “Now you'll turn on yer heels and go back to yer room”.

“Or…?”

“I have no time and zero patience for your tantrums, human. There are people here who will want to speak with you – and I ain't among them, trust me – so be a good boy and shut the fuck up”. He gestured to the bag with his head and sunk his hands in the pockets of his pants. “Now let’s go. I carried you once, don't make me do it again”.

In another moment – in another life, before he'd messed up with Genji and left his home – Hanzo would have kept on arguing, shielding himself with his pride and probably fighting that big, gruff man. Now? He was too broken and damaged to be worth anyone’s time, even if contempt was all he felt for McCree.

Not obedience but apathy made him pick up his bag and walk his way back to the room. He had no answers, only more anguish at the thought of Genji watching over his sleep, and his blessed anger was now only ash and dust in his mouth. McCree's footsteps behind him were heavy, counterpointed by the weird tingling of metal, and he wondered how he couldn't have heard them before.

“Jesse, did you find… oh, dear God”. A slender blonde woman peeked from the door and jumped on her feet, startled as she came face to face with Hanzo.

“Yeah, doc. And all in one piece, as you required”. He pushed Hanzo inside and hung by the door. “Do what you will with him, I'll make sure he's not runnin’ away anymore”.

“Do _what_ with me? What am I, some kind of Guinea pig?” The words stumbled out of his mouth before he could think them throughout, filled with an incredulous dread he hadn't realized he was feeling,

The woman and McCree exchanged a long look that ended with the latter snorting and slamming the door shut. Eventually, the blond stranger shook her head and gave Hanzo her full attention.

“Good morning, Hanzo. I'm doctor Angela Ziegler”, she said in a polite, icy cold voice. She turned her back to him and gestured him to the cot. “Could you please sit down? I need to make sure you are alright”.

“I am, thank you for your concern. I have no desire to be here, dr. Ziegler, and…”

She sharply turned to him, her piercing blue eyes pinning him into place.

“It is not relevant. Sit down or I'll have to ask Jesse – McCree, out there – to keep you still”.

The threat of having once more to suffer that brute was enough a slap to his self-esteem to make him obey; with a frown, he let his feet dangle from the cot and waited. In a second Angela was ready to visit him, prying his lids open and inspecting his eyes with a blinding light and quick precision.

“I expected it would take you at least two days to wake up, but you're reacting better than most to whatever disgusting mix you took”. He slender fingers went to his throat, pressing to feel the pulse there. “Still, I would feel safer, and Genji insisted a lot on the matter, if you kept your IV for some more hours. It's nothing more than physiological solution, but it will help…”

Her hand touched Hanzo's left arm, trying to tuck up the sleeve.

His reaction was immediate, and not one he was proud of. He gasped and snatched the arm back, jumping from the cot and ending with his back to the wall. The whole procedure caused the cot to shift on the floor and to hit the chair, making it fall with a clash.

McCree’s face appeared in the square of stained glass of the door, but Angela gestured him away. Hanzo, panting fast, looked at her wide-eyed.

“What's this nonsense? Are you scared of needles?” She asked with something more than a hint of sarcasm. It didn't become her.

Hanzo fumbled for an explanation. He pressed his lips into a tight line and closed his eyes for a moment, grasping to control himself. As soon as his breath was back to an acceptably normal rate, he looked at Angela.

“I don't like being touched”, he admitted, and marveled at himself realizing it was but the truth.

Angela was not impressed. She put the chair back in its place with meticulous gestures and looked at Hanzo with level, serious eyes.

“I'm a doctor, and visiting you will be complicated if you don't let me touch you”. She brushed a blonde lock from her eyes and lifted her chin. Slender and delicately made as she were, an aura of authority emanated from her. “You're going to stay here for a while, Hanzo, and if you cooperate everything will be…”

Panic again, thick in his brain, tingling under his skin. His secret didn't allow him for who knows how many days in that place, and he needed a way out or a solution.

“I'm a prisoner, then”, he said to gain time, and his voice was understandably shaky.

“Don't be silly, we’re not like the people who hunt us”. _Us. Another mutant._ She dismissed the issue with a wave of her hand and frowned minutely. “But Genji wanted you here both to mend your quarrel and to help him, so I dare say you'll be around the headquarter for…”

“I see. There are many unanswered questions I hope I'll be able to ask”, he interrupted her, still rubbing his arm. Angela tilted her head at his sudden change of tone, but Hanzo was quick to speak again. “I'll let you visit me, and I'll do my best to be of some help, if your cause will prove honorable. But not like this”.

He dropped his hands and gestured at his hoodie, smelling like garbage.

Angela opened her mouth for what looked like a sharp reply, giving Hanzo a shiver of concern, but then she almost smiled and nodded.

“I was about to say you're not the one making the rules, Hanzo Shimada, but I can't say you are wrong, and I always appreciate some attention to hygiene”. She smoothed the lab coat on her shoulders and took a step back. “I'll find you some clean clothes if you promise not to sneak away. You won't mind if I take your bag, just to be sure…”

“Do it. And lock the door – to be honest, I would enjoy some privacy. I'll want to take a shower, too”. He swallowed and prayed his tone wouldn’t falter. “And to shave. I can't stand this look any longer”.

Seconds passed, so many Hanzo started to fear he'd presumed too much and now his plan was blown, but eventually, Angela agreed.

“Fair enough”. She stooped and took his bag, walking to the door. “I'll bring you a razor and some soap, and then I'll give you one hour. After that, you'll let me visit you”.

Hanzo agreed blinking, but his hands were shaking in the shelter of his sleeves.


	4. Animal I have become

[ Animal I have become](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xqds0B_meys)

 

 

“And he didn't ask of Genji at all?”

Lena’s voice was as lively as usual, even too much considering how early in the morning it was. McCree looked at her upon the raised spoonful of cereals he was bringing to his mouth. It was his fourth bowl, and he still felt hungry.

“Told ya, sugar, he just tried to sneak out. But if Genji asks…” he shrugged and shoved the cereals in his mouth, not bothering to swallow before he spoke again. “I dunno, d’ya think I should tell him his shitty brother wanted to talk to him?”

He was conflicted for real. On the one hand, there was the sheer loathing he felt for Hanzo Shimada, a sensation gnawing at him from the inside and stemming from the simple knowledge that Hanzo had betrayed his brother, sending him to the very nightmare Overwatch was trying (and failing) to eradicate.

On the other, though, there was Genji, a dear friend and a good guy who'd managed to look past his troubles and even forgive that asshole. Forgive him! McCree shook his head and chomped his breakfast, waving the spoon at Lena.

“See, if Genji knew Mr. _Shitmada_ senior merely tried to leave the place without so much as a ‘sorry’ it would break his heart anew, and heavens know he's suffered enough already. So if I…”

“Jesse”, Lena interrupted him, picking a marshmallow from his bowl and making him scowl. “How far do you think you could go with such a lie?” She threw the treat in her mouth and chewed it attentively.

“Does it matter? I'm just tryina spare one of my best friends more grief”. He poured more cereals from the box, emptying it.

“Still, I'm so happy you're here. We all are”, she said, leaning back in her chair. What they called the mess room was painfully empty, save for the two of them, and it looked more dismal than when he'd used to hang by the headquarters. He drained the milk from his bowl and licked his lips.

“Never said I'd stay”, he corrected her. “I just happened to be ‘round and wanted to help Genji in…”

Lena’s big, sweet eyes went even bigger in her freckled face and she reached forward to pat his hand.

“Don't leave again, Jesse. We need you, we really do, and…”

“Yeah, for what? To retrieve jackasses from the streets?” He was startled by his own bitterness and looked away from Lena.

It was true, in a way – he never thought of going back to Overwatch, even if life as a rogue vigilante was shit and his stock of serum was running thin. That stuff was crazy expensive and hard to find, and never as pure as the one Angela provided. His mouth twisted in anguish, and he felt was Lena looking at him with a sympathy he could barely stand.

“But you could stay now. Jack thinks we might…”

“What can we do without Gabe? He was the one caring about our sorry hides and those of the one like us!” He spread his arms, and in doing so he hit the spoon, making it tumble off the table.

It never reached the floor: as many other times before, McCree felt reality become sticky and thick, and Lena, in front of him moved in a blur of blue. The spoon was back by the bowl and Lena in her seat in front of him, her small hands gently clasped in her lap.

McCree blinked and pouted.

“I could have picked it up, y’know? No need to play with time for such a…”

Lena winked and her gentle smile eased some of the tension. With a snort that was almost a laughter, McCree took a cigarette from his pocket and lighted it up without even asking for permission.

“Anyway, yer an angel and Lúcio too, and of course Genji and Zen are happy to see me, but the others…”

“The others would appreciate if you didn't try to poison us all”.

McCree had no time to turn around; a hand gloved in red and blue took the cigarette from his lips and let it fall in the remains of the milk, where it sizzled and went out. Jack Morrison was standing beside him, pale and stern. There was a trace of dry irony in the way he cocked a colorless eyebrow at him, and McCree smiled at him.

“So strict so early, Jack?”

Lena giggled briefly behind her hand and stood up with a loud grating of her chair.

“I’m off to see Winston, we may work on the old carrier for the morning”. She winked at McCree and she bounced away as if nothing had happened.

Jack looked at McCree in silence for a long minute, as if weighing the younger man. McCree, on his side, didn't falter and relaxed against the chair,

“What’s up, soldier? Do I have a milkstache?”

“She is right, young punk. We all are glad to see you around, and would appreciate your help”. He drummed on the table with his fingers and ruffled his short hair; it was impossible to say whether they were blonde or gray in the dim light. “I know how much Gabe’s departure hurt you, but I thought you still cared about the cause”. His drumming ended in a slam and he turned away. “We need skilled men, and you are one. Think about it, _agent_ ”.

Before McCree could recover from being reminded his role after months of namelessness, Jack was gone, and he was alone with the last remains of the smoke still lingering around him.

His smile dropped and he let his massive shoulders slump in a display of weakness he hated.

They wanted him to stay, and Overwatch was indeed the only place he'd ever called home in the last ten years or so. It was a safe harbor, where his fights mattered and he was valued and not feared.

He clumsily ran his prosthetic hand on the nape of his neck, feeling the reassuring edges of the pump there.

They needed him and he needed them, and this was more than enough of a good reason to leave.

He took a deep breath and was about to let his head fall in his hands, but his nose suddenly prickled.

His mind focused at once on the faint trace painting the smell of smoke and food _red_. All the hairs on his body stood up as he pushed the chair back and got to his feet.

Copper and sugar, something thick that made his skin itch and his heart run faster. It was weak, nearly covered by the smoke and surely impossible to smell for anyone but him in the base, but it was there, and the more he sniffed the air, the stronger it became.

 _Blood_. Somebody was wounded, but who?

He started to walk without meaning it, eyes closed and his whole wits focused on his sense of smell.

Not Lena or Jack, they were still too near, and he knew how they smelled. And not Genji or Zenyatta, who were sleeping upstairs – no, the blood was somewhere on his floor.

He walked slowly, following the trail as if in a dream; his nose worked better like this, and he'd spent enough years in the base to cross its many, gloomy corridors without needing to use his eyes.

The smell was now so intense it made him sick, a crimson shroud over his sensations waking memories of hunt and fear and horror. But why here, in the very heart of Overwatch, whose secrecy was the last legacy of a past of rebellion?

His feet stopped midway down the easternmost corridor, and McCree snarled.

Hanzo’s cell. What had that wretched monster done? He ran to the door, overwhelmed by the blood, but stopped dead the moment he saw the keys hanging from the keyhole.

Genji’s brother was locked in, and yet…

A feeble moan floated to his oversensitive ears, and McCree felt a shiver run up his arms.

He didn't like Hanzo – hell, had he known him any better he'd probably said he hated him – and he'd expressed very clearly his lack of interest in his wellbeing, but now nausea was gripping him. He jumped to the door and grabbed the knob, forgetting for a moment it was closed. Beyond the stained glass he could see little but a dark splash – red, too red – and the trembling shadow inside the room.

No matter his distaste for the man, he was Genji's family and McCree the one who'd brought him here. He turned the keys and slammed the door open.

The stench almost made him throw his breakfast up, the sight even more so.

Blood was everywhere, scarlet handprints on the sink and the bed, a stripe along the wall, a puddle around Hanzo’s crouched body.

For what seemed like hours, McCree could only stare at the man kneeling on the floor, naked from the waist up. At first, he didn't understand what was wrong with his back – was Hanzo trying to cut slabs of skin from his shoulder blades? Reddened, shiny hands trembled around something small, but among the clots there seemed to be no wounds… and yet there was so much blood…

McCree realized it as he saw it happen. Hanzo, panting, was utterly ignoring his presence, and the razor blade cut a trembling line around the long appendices sticking from his back.

A long slash tore Hanzo’s skin open, and in the time of two breaths, it disappeared again.

McCree's brain rose above his stupor and spurred him into action. Shaking almost as much as Hanzo, he ran forward and grabbed his arm, twisting his wrist until the razor fell to the ground.

“What the fuck are you doing?” He yelled at him, but Hanzo didn't seem to hear him. He simply stared, his face streaked with tears, his eyes red, his long hair sweaty.

“Rip them off”, he hissed.

“What… what are you…”

“You can do it, I know you can do it, you're strong enough to… to…” he convulsed and McCree held him by both arms, shocked.

“You were mutilating y-yourself, I…”

“ _Rip them off_! Please, McCree, nobody must know that… I am…” Hanzo’s face contorted into a monstrous grimace and he tried to set himself free. He kicked and squirmed so hard even McCree had a hard time holding him still. Oh, of course he could have used more force, but he would have seriously hurt him.

“Would you stop it, Shimada? No, no, enough!”

Hanzo leaped on the side, craning his neck to unbalance the two of them. He winced and arched his back and hit McCree twice, almost slipping away from his grip and forcing him to hold him tighter.

“Hanzo! You'll harm yourself!” He cried out, as the body under his hands convulsed wildly. Damn, the guy was stronger than he'd imagined, and dreadfully determined too, even if not sane at all right now.

A furious movement too much, and McCree felt it distinctly – the snap of bones in his fist, Hanzo’s wrist crunching under his pressure as the shorter man struggled madly to set himself free.

The scream was not human at all, rough and loud, painful in McCree’s ears and in his heart. With a shot of horrified guilt, he let Hanzo go, mesmerized by the deformity in his wrist and even more by the way it slowly disappeared under his shocked stare.

"Oh fuck - I'm sorry, I... I..."

“L-Let me go”, a grunt, and when Hanzo rose his eyes to meet his own McCree felt something crack inside him. “Let me…”

“You too… you are…”

“ _Shut up!”_ He cried, more tears swelling in his eyes. “I don’t want them, rip them off!”

“No fucking way!” McCree abruptly turned Hanzo in his arms and pinned his arms against his body, his own hands clasped in front of his bare chest. “Angie!”

“No no don't - don't call anyone, no one must know…” The furious voice was thick with utter panic, and Hanzo fought again.

“Stop this madness, Hanzo – Angela! Come now!”

Their quarrel had already alerted half the team. Lúcio was the first to come, stopping by the door with his green skin sparkling and his dark eyes as big as tennis balls.

“What… what is…”

“Put him to sleep before he tries to amputate himself again!” Roared McCree, and after a second of surprise, Lúcio jumped away with a nod.

Hanzo was not done fighting, his body battling against McCree between choked sobs.

“Come on, man, be still!”, he snarled in his ear – and now that he was so close he noticed something else. On the left side of Hanzo's neck, right under the black fuzz of the fuzzy side of his head, a patch of tiny blue scales sparkled under the blood.

Lúcio came back in a second, with Angela at his heels.

“Oh my God”, she muttered, her hand to her mouth.

“I swear, Angie, it’s not how it seems but please, _please_ put him to sleep before…”

She needn't more instructions; she snatched the syringe from Lúcio’s hand and ran to McCree, slipping on the bloodied floor. He wanted to reach out and help her standing, but he had to hold Hanzo, whose panic was reaching a new peak.

More footsteps by the door, a stifled cry, and eventually Angela managed to stick the needle in Hanzo’s neck.

The narcotic worked its magic in a matter of seconds. McCree felt the shiver crawl up Hanzo’s body and his last plea – “ _Please, cut them off” –_ before the body went limp in his arms.

He let Hanzo fall to the floor, holding him just enough not to drop him like dead weight, and panted as he turned around.

He too was covered in blood, and Angela fell on her knees by the unconscious man.

McCree took a step back and realized he was shaking.

On the door, in his pajama pants, with Zenyatta's slender dark arms wrapped around his bare torso, Genji was looking at him in disbelief. As Lúcio and Angela struggled to put Hanzo back on the bed, McCree looked the two young men in the corridor.

“He… he's a mutant… your brother's a mutant”, he whispered, and saw tears swell in Genji’s eyes.

 

 

˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜

 

 

“Release me immediately”. His voice, despite his best efforts, was still shaking, as were his hands, tied together with a plastic band that hurt his wrists. The two men sitting in front of him – or, to be more accurate, the man and the blue monster – exchanged a quick look that Hanzo didn’t miss.

“I’m afraid we won’t be able to fulfill your request until you’ve answered some of our questions”, said the blue thing – who’d introduced itself as Winston – pushing his glasses up his nose. His hazel eyes were unbearably kind, and Hanzo snarled softly.

“This is not negotiable. Release me”.

His words fell flat in the tidy white room he’d woken up to, seemingly a handful of minutes after his show. His face caught fire once more as shame washed over him. Of all the people who could have caught him in such a situation, it had to be McCree – the loud asshole who clearly despised him had looked at him with pity, and Hanzo clenched his fists at the memory. Hate he could very well live with, but _this_? No, this was too much.

The plastic band squeaked as it dug deeper into his skin. The second guy, Jack Morrison, leaned closer and scrunched his nose; his pale eyes were perfectly calm, perfectly cold, and for a split second Hanzo felt a shiver of fear.

“Let me ask you again – politely. And for the last time. How long have you known you were a mutant? What are your powers?”

Hanzo bared his teeth and bore his stare, breathing loudly through his nose. The smell of blood lingered still, even if someone had wiped his torso and given him a clean t-shirt.

With a heavy sigh, Morrison stood up, pushing back the plastic chair he was sitting on. It was nearly identical to the one in the room Hanzo had first woken up into, as was a good part of the furniture. Here, though, there was no mirror, there were no glasses or any possibly sharp material.

They were trying to keep him safe from himself, like a child, and Hanzo felt his rage roar into flames. He leaned forward until he was inches from Morrison’s face.

“I said – Release. _Me_ ”, he whispered. The sharp features in front of him stood frozen for a second, then twisted with rage. Jack grabbed Hanzo by the front of his shirt and pulled him even more forward, unbalancing him from the bed he was sitting on.

“Alright, kid, you wasted your last chance to be asked in a civilized fashion. I assure you there are many ways I can make a man speak, and none of them is…”

“Jack – Jack, no, please”. Winston’s blue paw closed on his arm, and his hairy face suddenly looked authoritative. “Not like this”.

“How, then? We need answers, are you questioning my methods?” he growled, twisting the fabric in his hand. Curiously, Hanzo didn’t care – his whole brain and heart were already in such a chaos that Morrison’s outburst could do little to make things worse.

Winston sighed, his hand still in place.

“I’m not, but…”

“I am”.

Angela appeared on the door, arms crossed and fair face glowing with indignation. Hanzo felt nothing for her – no relief, no expectation. A dull indifference was starting to descend on him, choking even his shame.

“Angie, we need to…”

“I don’t care what your plans are, Soldier 76. It’s one of my patients you’re talking to, and here, in this room, my word is the law”. She tapped her foot on the floor; her blue eyes were ruthless and her mouth set in a stern line. What went on beyond the silent stare they exchanged, Hanzo could not tell, but Winston was quick to stand up.

“You are absolutely right, Angela, we’re…”

“Don’t you think you’re trespassing, Mercy?” Jack’s voice was flat, and Hanzo blinked at the names the two of them used.

“I think Mr. Shimada requires my assistance more than you need his answers. I’m sure he will cooperate when his health state is fully restored”.

_I won’t bend to your requests. And I've healed already, can’t you see?_

The thought bubbled in his head, but he didn’t speak it out loud.

Eventually, Morrison exhaled a sharp breath and nodded once, turning his back to Hanzo. He was left ignored, his hands pulsating in the binds, as the two men left. Winston stopped on the threshold to wave sheepishly, and when the door closed, Angela sighed and her shoulders sagged.

“I don’t know what’s with their obsession with briefings and interrogations with people still in bed”. She picked a pair of scissors from the front pocket of her lab coat and slowly approached Hanzo. When she looked up at him, her eyes were clear and sincere. To his absolute comfort, she looked practical more than compassionate. “Now, Hanzo, I’m going to set your hands free; I can’t stand when people are treated like animals, and you are no exception. Can you be still?”

He blinked. He could easily get her scissors and use them as a weapon to escape the place, but he was fairly sure his attempt would end in less than ten steps.

“I’m stuck here, right? There’s no way I could get out”, he said, calmer now.

Angela didn’t sound worried by his declaration. She rolled the scissors around her index finger and shrugged.

“Not a chance. The base is a maze, and even if you reached one of the doors, you wouldn't know how to activate them. And after them there’s…”

“Ok, message received. I… would like to reassure you, I’m not going to attack you in any way. It would be mostly unseemly from me”.

This curled up her lips in a quick smile, and she took one step forward.

“You’re a very gallant man, Mr. Shimada. Thank you for your unrequired concern… now, could you please hold out your hands?”

Obediently, Hanzo stretched his arms. The moment the scissors cut the plastic band with a snip, his muscles tensed.

_No, I won’t do anything like this. It’s a matter of honor._

He breathed deeply and massaged his wrists, thoughtful. Looking down he saw how his knees were still stained with blood, darker blotches on his black pants.

“I won’t ask you if you want to talk, but I need you to know that I can’t let you get out of this room”. She slid the scissors back into her pocket and placed his hands on her hips. “You need help, Hanzo: do you realize it?”

His throat clenched and his heart shrunk. A crowd of snarky words formed on his tongue, but the frantic rhythm of his heart drowned it. He sunk his nails into the sheets.

“I’m no therapist, unfortunately, but we have an incredible one – Zenyatta has been vital for your brother’s improvement, and I…”

“No”, he snapped, looking at Angela from the shadows of his hair, falling on his face. Talking to anyone about himself? To a stranger – a _mutant_? No. Never in a thousand years.

He could hear the soundless sigh that flew from her lips, and the action of the gears in her brain.

“As you wish. But I strongly suggest you take this”. She fished a small white container from another pocket and placed it on the bed, next to Hanzo’s hand. “Start with one a day, and see how it goes. It’s sertraline, it can…”

“I know what it is”. He ignored the medications and swallowed hard to stop his body from shaking.

He was determined not to take any medication – partly out of paranoia, but mostly because any form of help from that bunch of strangers tasted like commiseration.

Angela snorted and nodded.

“On a full stomach, if you want to minimize the side effects. I’ll have your blood analyzed – you left a lot in your previous room, so I’ll spare you the nuisance of a needle – so we will know more about your mutation”.

At that last word, Hanzo stared at her with all the hatred he could gather, and in that moment it was _a lot_. He knew how his killer look could affect other people, especially those who weren’t familiar with him, but to his surprise, Angela didn’t flinch.

She crossed her arms over her chest, and now all sympathy seemed gone from her chiseled face.

“I won’t work with me, Hanzo. You’re in shock and in denial, but you  _are_ a mutant, and when you’ll get to accept it, things will be better. Still, I won’t let you go out and about and hurt yourself”. She turned her back on him and opened the door. “For now, I’ll keep Jack at bay, but sooner or later you’ll have to face him again. Take your pills”, she concluded with a cock of her eyebrows before leaving.

The key clicked in the keyhole and Hanzo was alone once more. Alone and captive.

He stared with open disgust at the pills. As if they could help him… only if they could make him human, or make right the wrongs of his past, they could be of any use.

There were so many things off, and they were not in his head – they were all around him. They were real.

He swatted the bottle away and watched it fall to the ground with a rattling sound, rolling under the bed and disappearing from his sight. Curiously, it made him feel better.

Leaning against the cold wall, he wrapped his arms around his folded legs and stared at the empty room. From the chaos of his thou, hts he couldn’t pick a single thread to follow, as if a thousand voices were all screaming inside him and he had no way to listen to what they were saying.

With a heavy sigh, unable to swallow entirely the need to cry and slam his fists on the door, he leaned his face on his knees.

_What am I supposed to do now?_

From the silence, after what seemed like hours, something like an answer came.

The keys jingled once more, and Hanzo didn’t even look up. Angela again, to check if he’d taken his meds, or Jack demanding his cooperation, or Winston and his unnerving correctness. Or even worse, McCree – well, not worse, maybe. His blatant contempt was not too insufferable, and after all he deserved it.

The first step in the room should have warned him, but the screaming inside him covered his memories.

“Hey”.

That whisper, trembling and barely audible, he couldn’t ignore. His whole body clenched in a spasm of agony, and he slowly, painfully raised his head.

A voice he hadn’t heard in over two years. The last time, that same voice was screaming his name. Asking _why_.

Genji closed the door behind his back and folded his wings on his shoulders, wide eyes scanning Hanzo’s face.

His little brother, the secret he’d been accomplice of, stood before him, and Hanzo wanted to look away.

Blurred by tears, Genji looked taller, or maybe it was just the way he carried himself – upright, his head held high, his ridiculous green hair falling in front of his eyes. Hanzo blinked and focused on more details, like the tight pressure of his lips, the pattern of scars crawling up from his neck to his cheeks.

Disfigured and yet so unchanged.

“How are you?” A shy question, and from the chaos, words exploded inside Hanzo’s head.

 _I’m wrong. I’ve always been wrong, and I’m sorry, brother. What have they done to you? I should have known, but I was such a fool, such a coward… you suffered so much and I couldn’t stand the sight. Look what_ I’ve done to you - _I’m the real monster, and not just because of the deformities in my body. I abandoned our father to die alone, I abandoned you, why can’t I be abandoned too?_

But he couldn’t speak. He quickly sat back on the bad as Genji approached, and the frantic gesture startled his brother.

“I’m not going to hurt you, Hanzo. I mean, I don’t want to, I could never do it. Do… do you mind if I sit?” and he pointed at the chair. The caution in his movements, his subdued tone, everything in his demeanor spoke of fear and uncertainty.

Hanzo didn’t nod, only stared, and Genji sighed and stood still.

“Ok, I… shit. They told me about you, and… and I have so many things to ask you, Han, so many questions and wounds only you can heal, but I fear this is not the right time”. He ran his hand through his hair, making it stand on his forehead in such a familiar fashion Hanzo wanted to cry openly. Genji would do that anytime he was nervous when they were kids. That lonely child was still somewhere down there.

“I know they told you little about this all”, and he waved at the room. Hanzo needed to know, but couldn’t bring himself to ask – not now, frozen by shock and bottled up emotion as he was. Genji paced back and forth in the small room and took some deep breath before he continued. “This is Overwatch, we’re a group of mutants. We’re survivors, we escaped the Registration Act and now we’re trying – badly, I fear – to find data that could frame the government for this abomination… an abomination I take you know nothing about?”

Hanzo frowned lightly, but when Genji looked him straight in the eye he lost a second of his composure. He knew, even before his brother’s eyes lit up, that he’d let him saw through his barrier.

“You… you didn’t know. Back then, you had no idea…” Genji stuttered, his face going pale and his voice cracking. He made a stiff gesture, as if he’d wanted to take Hanzo’s hands, but stopped immediately. Hanzo gritted his teeth and looked at his own fingers, contracted on the black, dirty fabric of his pants.

“You didn’t know…”

A long silence ensued, and eventually Genji dropped on the chair, shaking.

“This is not how I imagined our reunion”, he admitted under his breath. “I supposed you were going to… to _react_ somehow, but…” Another sigh, and his shoulders slumped, making his wings flutter.

_It’s the same for me, Genji. I wished you’d hit me and yell all your hatred at me, I wanted to fall on my knees and beg you to forgive me… I’d happily give my pride away just to have our old life back. But now this horror is all I’ve left._

“Nevermind. I think we’ll have time for that, too. I hope, at least – fuck, Zen told me not to press you, b-but it’s so hard when all I wanted was to… to…”

His voice died and he took his face in his hands.

Hanzo couldn’t look at him now.

The voice in his head was now loud and clear.

 _Of course you can’t, you coward. You broke him, sold him, betrayed one of the few in the whole world who loved you. You don’t deserve to breathe his same air_.

“Ok, ok, I've got this”. Genji breathed three times and straightened on the chair. Hanzo knew he was looking at him again. “You didn’t know what the Registration Act is, and still don’t, so let me fill the gaps for you. If it comforts you, not even Goldberg knew, so you’re in good company”.

This stirred something inside Hanzo, who still struggled not to move from his corner against the wall.

Goldberg didn’t know? But he was the one who told him to let Genji undergo the procedure…

“You know all the superficial details, right? The test and so on. No one ever spoke much of what happens if you fail it… I mean, ok, Goldberg was starting to shit his pants because of the disappearing mutants, but not much came from that. In case you missed it, and you did, those who didn’t come back after the rehabilitation had no family, or a thick criminal record. Or they were already dead to the world”.

At this Hanzo, feeling a wave of cold run op his arms, peeked at Genji.

Dead to the world. Like him.

Nausea pooled in his stomach.

“What no one knows, outside of the handful of monsters who run the organization, is that… we’re used for experiments. T-They run tests on us, they take samples and... well, you’re not supposed to make it out alive”, and his lips tilted in a crooked, dry smile. “We mutants are lab rats, used for research. To find a cure for cancer or to create a super soldier, it doesn’t really matter, but…”

It happened at once. Hanzo stumbled from the bed and grabbed the first thing his shaky hands could find – the sink was too far, but the trash bin was just there. His stomach writhed and he sunk onto his knees, retching wildly and throwing up the scarce content of his bowels. Water and acid that burned up his throat and his lips as he coughed, the shock of the discovery taking over him.

Genji could have died. He didn’t just expose his brother, he sent him to _die_ – and he had no idea.

A trail of saliva fell from his slack lower lip and tears dangled from his lashes.

It didn’t absolve him of anything. It only made things worse, more wicked, it made him all the more guilty.

A cold hand fell on his shoulder.

“Hanzo, fuck, you’re making me worry! This is why I needed to find you, look at yourself, I was so scared for you and now…”

Hanzo snarled and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, turning abruptly to stare at Genji.

 _Leave_ , he wanted to scream. Or _please, stay, don’t leave me_.

The two brothers only exchanged a long, hard stare, and in the end, Genji closed his eyes. His hand slid from Hanzo’s shoulder and he took a step back.

“Alright, I don’t… I shouldn’t have come now, I should have listened to Angela. But I missed you so much and…”

He shook his head and turned around.

“Fuck”.

Genji left quickly, locking the door behind him, and Hanzo felt another brick crumble inside him.

The Registration Act was all a cover up from some perverted federal secret. He’d sent his brother to be butchered without even knowing. And when Genji had come to make things right again – he’d searched him on the streets and succeeded where the police had failed, and God knows at what risk – Hanzo had turned him away.

He fell sitting on his haunches, his whole body caught in a great grip of anguish. He covered his face with his hands, and he could have cried. Now that he was alone, now that no one could see him, he would have welcomed tears to wash a part of that pain away.

But tears wouldn’t come, only a dreadful shiver that rattled through his bones. His fingers sunk into his cheeks as he doubled over. His teeth chattered.

The small appendages on his back fluttered, and Hanzo tasted blood as he bit his lip to stifle a roar.


	5. The Unforgiven

  
[The Unforgiven](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ckom3gf57Yw)

 

 

No one had come to talk to him. They had no time or heed to pay him, and to be completely honest, McCree couldn’t blame them.

Sitting on his own in the kitchen, he rolled the glass in his palm, the clinking of ice echoing the tapping of his metal hand on the dirty surface of the table. Everything was so horribly motionless, dishes abandoned in the sink and squished cardboard boxes on the shelves. A layer of dust covered the highest surfaces, its particles dancing in the cone of yellow light from a single light bulb hanging from the ceiling.

They – all of them, from Angela and Lúcio to, predictably, Genji, going through Jack and Winston and their questions – had been fussing around Hanzo for the last hours. Lena was the only one who had spared him a word, but McCree didn’t really feel like talking, even if she was a good friend. And Zenyatta, of course, was offering Genji all his support.

Forgotten, ignored, McCree looked down at the dark golden liquid swashing in his hand. The taste of bourbon was heavy on his tongue, but not enough in his head.

Painfully sober, every time he blinked he could see red handprints in the darkness, and every time he opened his eyes Hanzo’s face was in front of him.

And _fuck_ , he thought as he sipped his drink, that face was tearing his soul in two. A curious reaction to someone he’d sworn to hate.

His sipping turned to a mindless gobbling as a voice rumbled in his memory.

_“Please, cut them off”._

Hanzo begging him – _begging_! That little shit he would have gladly punched in the face – to cut his wings, to help him hide the shame of being a mutant…

McCree grabbed the bottle and shook it. More than half empty, and he was nowhere near drunk.

It had been so easy when Hanzo Shimada was just another enemy face, one of the _others_. A man who’d made a terrible decision and deserved no sympathy was someone he was meant to hate. Oh, sure, he could have pretended, kept a decently civil face when Genji was around – not that he thought he could have fooled him, but putting up a show every time he was around Hanzo didn’t sound like a good idea. And anyway, he didn’t plan to stay in Overwatch much longer, so…

But _this_? A mutant so deep into the closet he was ready to harm himself, to cut his own body in order to hide his real self. McCree grunted and chugged down the whole content of his glass, letting its fire raise to his nose and eyes. He squinted and slammed the glass on the table, leaning back heavily against the backrest.

He ran his hand through his hair, letting his black hat fall to the ground; right now, he didn’t really care. A cigarette, a sparkle, and the smell of smoke surrounded him.

Jesse McCree liked to consider himself a simple man. Justly angry, loyal beyond common sense, with a very clear idea about everyone around him. He considered Genji some long lost half-brother, Zenyatta was somewhat mysterious but also very kind and he liked him, as he liked Lena and Lúcio – but honestly, it was nearly impossible not to like those two rays of sunshine. He owed Angela his eternal gratitude for providing him with what made him a person and not a beast, Winston was pompous but wise and gentle, and Jack…

Jack hurt. Because Jack meant Gabe, and the memory of their voices screaming one over the other still made him grit his teeth in anger. But even this was simple: he’d looked up to them for ten years and now Gabe was gone and Jack too bitter to fight as he claimed he did, and McCree was disappointed.

But Hanzo?

His first reaction had been rather brutal, and McCree trusted his instinct way more than his wits. But that same instinct now nudged him to show him a side he’d ignored.

Hanzo was a _victim_. A boisterous, untrustworthy mess of a man that lived somewhere between drugs, crime and self-destruction, but a victim nonetheless.

A long drag from his cigarette and he threw his head back, hitting the wall behind him. Slowly he puffed the smoke out, drawing soft rings in the air.

He needed someone to tell him how to feel, but he knew such person didn’t exist. Gabe was the closest he’d ever had to a fatherly figure, but even him wouldn’t stoop to tell him how to manage his emotions – especially now that McCree was nearing his thirties and was not a troubled kid anymore. But anyway, Gabe was not there with him and no one had the slightest idea where he was, so it was a pointless hypothesis.

The cylinder of ash fell from his cigarette, and McCree threw it on the floor. It was messy already, and no one would have reproached him for being rude. Not for now, at least.

“Fuck you, Hanzo Shimada. And fuck me when I entered that room, ‘cause hadn’t I seen what I saw I’d still be all wrapped in my comfy contempt”.

He ignored the glass and went straight for the bottle, but before he got to touch it with his lips, the door opened with a creak. McCree’s trusted instinct made him half stand up, his reaching for his belt to rest on the heavy gun hanging there. He felt a familiar prickle on the back of his neck and relaxed immediately – no, not even this time. He was still safe, the beast was far enough not to threaten him.

Genji looked at him, the knob still clutched in his hand. His eyes were hooded, his face drawn – even the green of his scales and hair seemed dull. McCree sat back and relaxed a bit, but his heart gave a painful squeeze at the sight of his friend.

“Shit, dude, you look really bad”. He moved his chair to the side to make room for Genji, and without a second thought handed him the bottle. Genji slumped beside him and took the drink without a word, taking two long gulps.

A sad smile tugged at McCree's lips. “Drinkin’ alone is a bad habit. I’m glad yer here”.

“You shouldn’t be drinking”. Genji’s voice was rough with alcohol and, McCree suspected, with crying, screaming or both. The base was big enough there were many places one could let the worst out without anybody listening, as he knew very well. He looked up at McCree, and he looked so old and worn he barely resembled the young mutant everyone knew. “Booze doesn’t mix well with your meds”.

“Stopped takin’ them months ago”, he admitted, taking another cigarette. “They were too hard to get by, and by the way I’m pretty good – I was reducing them already, and Angie knows it”.

Genji took his head in his hands and his shoulders shook in a silent, bitter laughter.

“She prescribed the same stuff to my brother, too. I doubt he’ll take it, though”.

A wave of cold ran up McCree’s arms. He crossed them over his chest and wasted some time retrieving his hat from the ground, but he couldn’t stay silent for long.

“You talked to him”. Not a question, for he already knew the answer, and so he was not surprised when Genji nodded once.

“I tried. It didn’t go well”. A sigh, and he reached for the bottle again. Even his wings seemed limp. “He… he didn’t react. Not as I imagined, at least – you know, it took me…” He drank and coughed before continuing. “It took me months to talk to Zen about this thing, and some more to learn that I _wanted_ to forgive Hanzo. In the last year I… I’ve been thinking too often about our reunion. I don’t know, call me an idiot, but I really thought it would've been like a scene out of a movie”.

“But real life is not like the movies, right?” said McCree under his breath. All these things, Genji was going to tell Zenyatta – most likely he’d already told him everything. But Zen was deep connections and healing words, loving hands and good advices. Now Genji looked much like someone who needed bad alcohol and someone who told him that yeah, life sucked badly.

Genji drained the last of the booze and threw the bottle against the wall, where it shattered in a loud cascade of shiny crystals. When he looked back at McCree, his face was the same of the boy Gabe had brought back from the lab, all anger and broken heart.

“I wanted my brother back. I needed my family, but he’s broken – maybe even more than I am! And I didn’t know, and _he_ didn’t know about the Registration act, and all the hatred I felt these years was completely wasted!”

“Genji, it’s alright, no one deserved this shit”. McCree held out his hand, but when he saw it hover on Genji’s shoulder, shaking with silent sobs, he closed his fist and retracted it. “I think it’s ok if you feel all messed up, but… shoot, I’m no Zenyatta with his wisdom and studies, but if there’s anything I can do I’m here”.

_I’m not leaving._

The thought darted through his head and disappeared, but not before it burned a hole in McCree’s mind.

He brusquely tilted his head, as if to let that unwanted thought slip from his ear, but it was done.

He realized it was true. He’d thought, when he set off for Overwatch to pat Genji on the back for the death of his father, to just drop by and then be back on the road. He was enough of a sharpshooter to find someone who could hire him, and the base held too many memories for his tastes.

But now – with Genji on the edge of a meltdown and his brother further down the fall – he felt he was needed here. For what, he didn’t know yet.

He took and smoked in silence another cigarette. For the handful of minutes it burned, Genji didn’t raise his head from his hands, and eventually McCree threw the butt on the floor, stomping on it with his worn out boot.

“Look”, he said, smoke still floating from his nose. “You’ve been through a lot recently, and I’m so happy you asked for my help, ‘cause it allowed me to be here right now where I may not be completely useless. Yer not blamin’ yerself for something, right?”

Genji chuckled and looked up from his fingers, his scars twisting in a grimace that was half amusement, half despair.

“Of quite a lot of things, actually. First thing first, I don’t know my brother, and I had the guts to judge him. Second, I don’t know how to…”

“Genji, I’m not the right guy for this kind of things”, he interrupted him. “I… I can step in once you’ve untangled this fucked up mess, but right now I’d only end up givin’ you more alcohol or something stronger, and that’s not what you need. I’m bad at this, you know me…”

Genji smiled for real, even if his eyes were still haunted.

“Yes, I know you, Jesse McCree, and I’m so happy you’re not leaving again. Sometimes a guy needs bad advice to keep going”.

McCree snickered and punched his shoulder.

“For that, you can always count on me. But I suspect your cute beanpole boyfriend could be of more help in this specific situation…”

“Zenyatta is… too good for me, probably”. Genji slid a bit down his chair. He seemed calmer now, and the mere mention of Zenyatta brought a slight smile to his lips. McCree envied him so much for such a closeness. “He’s waiting for me, but I fear that speaking of my own brother could trigger his sorrow for the loss of Mondatta. He rarely speaks of how he feels, but I know his pain”.

McCree flipped the lighter between his fingers and cracked a tiny smile.

“And he can bear yours too. He may be thin, but his shoulders are broad enough to hold yer head if you need a good cry”.

Genji waited a moment, his eyes lingering on his own hands, before looking at McCree with a glimmer of hope hidden between the tears.

“You’re a better friend than you could think, you know?”

“Who, _me_? But I just told ya to go speak to a more responsible adult!”

Genji stood up, patting McCree on his metal arm and shaking his head.

“But you’re here. You’re someone I know I can count on, and it took me an emotional tornado to realize it. Thank you”.

He didn’t wait for a reply, and McCree didn’t really have a single word available at the moment. He stared, dumbfounded, as the last piece of reptile wings disappeared out of the room and too late he remembered to close his mouth.

Did it really take all that turmoil to bring him back home? His hands were splayed on the table; the right one, just like its lost twin, was large, with long fingers and swollen knuckles. There was still blood under his nails, and McCree slowly folded his fingers under his palm.

Back home, but what for?

There was a reason somewhere beyond all the tragedies and the anguish, and being McCree the curious man he was he needed to find it out. That was the guidance he’d needed so badly, and it didn’t come from a mentor, but from inside him.

He unfurled his hands and stared at the blood stains.

It was painful and maybe it was wrong, too, but a doubt was starting to grow inside his heart.

What if his starting point was the greatest, most wicked enigma in the whole Overwatch base?

He didn’t want to, but found himself on his feet before he could have sorted out his thoughts.

Probably it was wrong, but it was a starting point nonetheless.

Genji needed to speak with his brother, and in order to achieve that, the first step was to make Hanzo Shimada speak at all.

 

 

˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜

 

 

Hanzo Shimada, among his many flaws, couldn’t count hypocrisy.

He was hungry, fiercely so as the smell of toast and eggs rose from the trail on the chair in front of him, and ignoring that temptation was hard. No point in denying that.

“Come on, man”, sighed Lúcio, more exhausted than annoyed. “It’s been two days, now, you can’t keep on fasting, and… great. _Again_ ”.

The young mutant crouched by the bed and Hanzo didn’t move. Back held straight, legs crossed, hands politely resting in his lap, he looked at the white wall in front of him. His stomach grumbled, and the sound made his lip twitch in disapproval.

“Look, Hanzo”. Lúcio stood up and rolled the plastic container in his palms. His white gloves were immaculate. “I don’t know what makes you so stubborn, but you should really take your meds. It’s for your good, and you’d take insulin if you were diabetic, right?”

Motionless, Hanzo rolled his eyes; Lúcio caught him and huffed, opening the box and letting a single pill slip in his hand.

“Alright, I leave it here, ok? Try to eat if you don’t want Mercy to apply her emergency protocol, and then behave. Please”.

The _emergency protocol_ – a clinical way to define Angela’s threat of calling McCree to sit on Hanzo and hold him still as she put an IV in his arm and stuffed food down his throat.

Hanzo kept on ignoring Lúcio as he shook his head, making his dreadlocks wiggle on his shoulders, and eventually turned to the door. When the familiar click rang in the air, Hanzo relaxed a bit. He leaned back against the cool wall, feeling the vague chill seep through his t-shirt. It was too small for him, stretched on his shoulders and on the unacceptable bumps on his back, but it was clean, as were his sweatpants.

Two days locked up, avoiding any form of contact with all those who came to visit him – mostly Angela and Lúcio to check up on him, or Genji, in heart-breaking, awkward attempts to cause his brother a reaction. For those days, Hanzo’d been very persistent in his silent protest, but right now fasting was becoming a hard task to endure.

The eggs smelled delicious, buttery and with a hint of pepper, and he realized how much he missed toasted bread. But no, he wouldn’t eat – not out of a whim, but because he couldn’t think of other ways to punish himself. Punishment brought anger, and anger was the only thing he had. If he opened up to this new, weird situation, if he allowed himself so much as the fulfillment of a basic need, he’d crumble to pieces.

So he looked away from the steaming plate and waited, but he didn’t know for what.

Something actually happened later that day; the clock on the wall told him it was 7 PM, and his stomach moaned its outrage, as it had been doing for the last hours. Hanzo rubbed a hand on his middle section and lay down on his bed; his head felt steady, his body still vigorous, but a vague dizziness ran through his veins. The food was still on the chair, and despite being cold it still looked enticing. Maybe even more after so many hours on an empty stomach.

No one had bothered him after Lúcio, and he was both relieved and nervous: someone would show up soon, and the mere presence of another creature near him was unbearable. Considering those people were all mutants, it was even worse.

With a sigh torn from the depths of his being, Hanzo bent his head.

_Who am I kidding? I’m a mutant, and here it’s pointless to deny it…_

And then a small voice rose beyond his own doubts.

_Maybe it’s not that bad. Maybe it will be easier now that it’s not a secret anymore, now that Genji knows how similar we are…_

Hanzo squeezed his eyes and pressed his knuckles to his eye sockets. The darkness colored with bright blue and orange spots, hypnotic enough to distract him for a second from his thoughts.

A jingling sound from the corridor startled him. He stood up, causing his head to spin a little, and stared at the door.

The glass window darkened with a big shadow, and Hanzo recognized the hat and the broad shoulders. With a sneer, he shot a deadly stare at the figure, but said nothing.

Worst case scenario: McCree was here to pester him. Irritation darted up to Hanzo’s head, and he kindled the embers of his rage; if McCree’s intention was to tell him how much he hated him or, worse even, to take his fucking pills and eat, he was ready to snap.

But McCree only ran a hand under his hat before disappearing – or to be more precise, sinking to the floor. A thud, his spurs still sounding, and Hanzo understood he’d sat against the door.

He opened his mouth to ask what he wanted, but eventually he desisted.

He didn’t care, especially not about that asshole sitting on the other side of the door.

“We’re… uh, we’re still in San Angeles, y’know?”

Hanzo blinked and squinted at the door as if the knob was speaking. A click, and in a second a faint smell of smoke filtered from the outside.

“The base. We’re still in the territory of San Angeles, but far to the East. A… well, a former jail, but they never used it as such, and honestly, I ain’t even that sure it has ever been used at all. A landslide after an earthquake and _bam_ , millions from the contributors buried six feet under”.

Weird how his voice sounded forcibly casual. When he was not barking at him, McCree had a warm, young voice, not unpleasant at all.

“Overwatch got here some ten years ago, when first Jack and Gabe escaped from the SEP program”. He paused, presumably to smoke again. “Now Gabe is gone, but we still have Jack – and the base, of course. Damn hard to get in, I’d say impossible if you don’t know where the entrance is. And trust me, nobody knows – also, Winston is a genius and filled every crack in the walls with technological stuff that keeps people out. Got locked outside myself, once”. A low chuckle, as if to himself, and he continued. “You should have seen your brother’s face – Genji’d gotten here from no more than six months, and he found me asleep in the wrong place down the hidden path. At first, he thought there was a bear snoring nearby, and he kicked me in the ribs to wake me up”.

Hanzo lifted an eyebrow and slowly shook his head. What was that nonsense?

“I mean, I kinda suppose you had questions, and I’m putting something together based on my own assumptions. I guess you’ll want to know where we are, so this one’s done. Oh, well, I don’t remember the precise GPS point, but we’ll discuss it once you get out of your cave. Now, let me see – ah, right. What is Overwatch, correct? I’m fairly sure Genji told you something about the gang and our goals already, but maybe you want more details…”

And he kept on chattering, telling of the Registration Act and of how every member of the team – except for him – had one way or another escaped the labs. He then went on with a short bio of his comrades – again, except himself – and of their latest investigations. Despite himself, Hanzo sat and listened.

“… and believe me, she’s a real angel. One would imagine it, with her being _Angela_ , right? But she goes out often to help mutants on the street… ok, actually not just mutants, she can’t say no if someone’s in a rough spot, but it’s all for good. We need contacts to get medicines and stuff, and we can’t exactly go up to the counter and ask the salesperson”. McCree took another drag from his third cigarette and continued. “She cares about everyone, even the last of the jerks. She’d never let even her worst enemy die if she can do something about it, and I know she wouldn’t let _you_ die”.

Hanzo jumped the moment he realized the conversation was now about him; the movement made the bed creak, and he knew McCree had heard him. He bit his lip and huffed slowly.

“Starving yerself won’t be of any use, Hanzo. To be frank, yer probably hurting her more than yerself; while you sit here with your noble denial to accept people’s help, she’s thinking about what could go wrong with you and how she’s failin’ at her sacred mission to make the world a better place. It’s not always ‘bout you, you know, sugar?”

He stood up, and his bulk obscured the door once more for a second. Hanzo clenched his jaws as a furious blush rose to his cheeks.

Shamed by a mutant? How _dared_ he? But the sting was there, and, as if given permission by the nobler motivation McCree just showed him, his stomach rumbled with renewed enthusiasm.

“Eat, Hanzo. You won’t look more badass if you faint, and I can guarantee your cheekbones are sharp enough already as they are”. A small knock on the door, a tip of his hat, and he walked away. “See ya tomorrow”, was the last, ominous goodbye McCree left him.

Beyond outraged, Hanzo punched the wall behind him with the side of his hand and growled a long series of Japanese curses under his breath.

Lectured by that asshole, scolded as a child – his ears burned with embarrassment, his heart raced with shame. As unpleasant as it was, the sensation was reassuring, something he’d learned to manage since he was a kid, different from the sticky despair of the last days. A bait to pull him out.

He sternly looked away from the door and the now empty corridor beyond, but in doing so his eyes lingered on the chair and the food.

He wouldn’t do it for Angela. She was a good woman – the word slipped in his thoughts in place of the usual “mutant”, and Hanzo, perplexed, didn’t correct himself – but he didn’t know her enough to care. He wouldn’t even do it for Genji, with all the wounded brotherly love he wanted to save: Genji was better off without him, and he wished his brother would understand it. And he definitely wouldn’t do it for McCree, that insufferable thug that rubbed him in all the wrong ways.

But for himself, maybe? No, not to ease his own discomfort, but to reason clearly and find a way out – yes, for this he could bring himself to eat.

His mouth watered as he leaned forward and grabbed the trail, placing it on his knees, and his hands shook a little. The eggs were a dull yellow, the bread hard and a bit burned, but the first bite into the toasted slice made him close his eyes in pure bliss. Crumbles fell into his beard and his shirt, tickling him, but he couldn’t care less. The toast was gone in two mouthfuls, and the eggs were even better.

At the second bite, though, the earthy taste seemed to change into something vaguely unpleasant.

_I’m not doing it for any reason but to get out of here. I don’t care about anything but to be on my way as soon as possible._

But the more he chewed, the stronger the taste became.

Hanzo’s eggs tasted like hypocrisy.

 

 

Another day rose, and Hanzo woke up with a piercing sting in his shoulders. He sat up squinting, suppressing a low grunt, and reached back for his shoulder blades.

His deformities were almost as long as his hand now, and sleeping on them caused him some discomfort. Nothing compared to the thick disgust he felt when those appendices twitched involuntarily under his touch. Hanzo, still ruffled and heavy with sleep, bit his lip and let his arms fall to his sides.

The sudden realization made him blink in surprise.

He’d _slept_.

A good sleep, six hours at least, and he was rested as it hadn’t happened in months.

_I ate before going to bed, that’s all. Not lying awake with your bowels trying to digest themselves probably helped._

He sighed and looked up to the ceiling, the back of his head bumping against the wall behind him. His wings – he swallowed hard as he realized how he’d called his worst shame – scratched the smooth surface and adjusted on his back so that he could comfortably lean back.

Done was done, and until he was here he had to live with his problem. Cutting them off once he’d be free would be a nightmare, considering how fast they were growing.

Three more days in, three afternoons with McCree talking to himself (mostly) just outside of his door. Hanzo had kept quiet, eating in silence and hoping his clear annoyance would drive the man away.

It didn’t work, as the two voices in the corridor proved. Hanzo rolled his eyes so much they might well have fallen from the back of his head.

“Angie, honey, allow me, please”.

“You’re exceptionally kind, Jesse, but I really need to…”

“Yer a doctor, not a waitress. Come on, give me here”.

“Yes – thank you, but I still need to go and measure his blood pressure, and…”  
  
They were getting closer, and when McCree’s voice spoke again it was so soft all Hanzo could hear was a low murmur. He couldn’t understand a single word, but he didn’t like the change in his tone.  
  
What else were they hiding from him? Maybe some form of gossip, or worse of compassion… he clenched his fists and flared his nostrils.

“… just let me try, ok?”

A moment of silence, and then Angela chuckled.

“Whatever, I doubt you could do much damage. But it’s on you, Jesse, remember”.

“Don’t worry yer pretty head, doc, I got this”, and for some reason Hanzo could picture him winking at the woman. He shook his head and got up, heading to the small bathroom and grabbing his toothbrush. Washing in the morning without a mirror was weird, but no one trusted him near any sharp material.

His knuckles protruded from his fist around the toothbrush, and he ignored the gruff voice out of his door.

“Howdy, Hanzo? Slept well?”

 _Well yes, thank you very much, but I’m not in the mood for a chat_ , he thought, opening the water. The sound nearly covered McCree’s words, but not quite.

“Today we have pancakes on the menu”, he said, way more cheerful than it was normal. “Zenyatta made them, and Genji helped – well, that’s what he said, but he mostly tried to make out with Zen for the whole time. They’re a couple, have I told you already?”

Hanzo, in the middle of rinsing his mouth under the tap, choked when some water went the wrong way down his lungs.

He coughed, punching the sink with tears in his eyes.

Genji had a _boyfriend_? And he’d found him here? Zenyatta, that guy everyone kept on telling him he should talk to – his brother’s boyfriend?

“Shoot, Hanzo, are you ok? Are you…”

He was, although it took him a while to go back breathing normally. Eventually he spat and cleared his throat, and McCree knocked once.

“Is it a yes?”    
  
“Mph”, was the only answer Hanzo could muster as he washed his face.

Genji. In a relationship. All those years alone, and now…

“Well, a snort is always better than nothing. So, as I was sayin’, Zenyatta made pancakes and… oh, wait”. He stopped, and as Hanzo looked up over his tangled hair he saw, through the small window, the silhouette of McCree’s hat. “You… didn’t know ‘bout them. I hadn’t told you yet”.

A long moan, and McCree disappeared with a plop. He was, once more, sitting by the door.

“I fucked up, right? I should have let Genji tell you, I hope he won’t be too mad at me – I’ll have to apologize to him”. He grunted and Hanzo heard a slap, as if McCree had taken his hat off. “Good thing Genji has a heart of gold; he’ll pout a bit, punch me in the ribs, and then we’ll be alright. It’s always like this with him, but I s’pose you knew it already…”

Hanzo looked with suspicion at the door. Subtext, so much subtext. Irritation bubbled in his chest, and he hastily tied his hair back in a messy bun.

“Anyway, I’ve got your breakfast here. I made sure they added some coffee to the trail, you like coffee?... ok, ok, sorry, didn’t want to break yer broody mask. As I said, food’s here – and now…”

A click, sharp and sudden, and electricity ran under Hanzo’s skin; he heard the lock open and tensed in the middle of the room, his knees bent and ready to spring into action.

But the door remained closed.

“Come get it before it gets cold, dude”.

Hanzo felt a low rumble rise from his lower belly, a growl that didn’t live much beyond his gritted teeth.

Because now he could smell it: breakfast. And if enduring hunger on the previous days had been feasible – fasting on an empty stomach? Bring it on – now that he’d tasted food again he knew how much he needed it. And now his feet moved to the door before he could command them to do so.

_No, wait. I don’t have to open the door now, I can wait until Angela comes back to visit me and brings it all inside. McCree will be gone soon, after all._

And out of nowhere, McCree apparently read his mind. Was that his power?

“I’m not leaving anytime soon, darlin’, and starting a day without some coffee would be a crime, don’t you think?”

_Fine, then!_

Hanzo stomped his foot on the floor, and being in his socks the sound was no more than a _poof_ , and walked to the door. Fuelled by mere scorn he grabbed the handle and slammed the door open, careful not to spare McCree a single look.

Alright, the guy hadn’t been lying: the trail on the floor sported a pile of pancakes and a steamy mug of coffee, its smell so good Hanzo stifled a moan. He stooped and took everything, retreating to his room and struggling to close the door with his elbow.

He didn’t want to look, but he saw it – a grin, lingering at the corner of McCree’s mouth and half hidden in his beard. Apart from that, the man didn’t try to make eye contact, and as the door closed behind him Hanzo felt grateful.

“Enjoy your meal, darlin’”, came from the threshold, and Hanzo’s fingers twitched on the trail. He sat on the chair and attacked his breakfast, chugging mouthfuls of perfectly baked pancakes with bitter, strong coffee. He was alone, and he could indulge in a soft sigh as he closed his eyes in bliss.

McCree blessed him with ten minutes of silence, enough for him to finish his meal and enjoy the pleasant warmth in his belly.

“Y’know, the first time I took my meds I ignored Angela’s advice and got them before going to bed. Worst nausea ever, I swear to God, but as soon as I switched to taking them after breakfast it all went smooth – no side effects even, not even the slightest migraine”.

The nice feeling caused by the sweet aftertaste of pancakes soured instantly.

“I asked Angela first, ‘cause I didn’t want to fall for the ‘pills of happiness’ bullshit, and turns out I was tragically misinformed. It doesn’t make you happy at all, it’s more like… I dunno…” A click, and Hanzo smelled smoke. “It’s not like the helicopter carrying you to the top of the mountain, and more like the shoes you need for the climbing. It doesn’t get you there, but makes you able to do the thing”. A low, rumbling chuckle, and McCree’s voice sounded oddly sweeter. “I’m bad at metaphors, but that stuff helped me. Not in a miracle kind of way, but I got to get up in the morning and be alive. That was enough already, for me”.

And for Hanzo it was more than enough. Or for his patience, at least. He grabbed the mug and the empty trail, slammed the door open once more and stared down at McCree, ears buzzing with fury and teeth bared.

“I didn’t ask you for the story of your life”, he grunted, dropping everything in McCree’s lap. The last drops of coffee spilled on his pants, dark against the equally dark fabric. Good, it made Hanzo’s distaste even more clear, and he was – well, angry, as usual. And uneasy, but especially determined to turn on his heels and go back to his isolation with the reassurance that McCree now knew how little he cared about his company.

Once more, that same, vague bitterness in his mouth made him wince.

McCree picked up the plastic plate and set everything aside, raising his eyes on Hanzo with a light, carefree smile on his lips. The bastard looked smug, and Hanzo tightened his grip on the handle.

“Yer makin’ this easier than I expected, sweetie”, he said, tipping his hat back on his head. Hanzo, fuming, narrowed his eyes and shot him his signature killer stare, shrugging.

Unperturbed, McCree, stood up with the fluidity of a big cat and stretched his arms to the ceiling.

“I thought it would’ve taken at least ten days to get ya to speak, and here we are already. Yer doin’ great, and…”

The slam of the door covered the rest of his words. Hanzo marched to the bed and heavily sat down, but even the bouncing of the mattress could do little to hide McCree’s chuckle from the corridor.

“Think ‘bout my words, Han. See ya tomorrow!”

And away he went, whistling softly.

Hanzo hated everything – his imprisonment, his own weakness and confusion, and McCree almost as much as he hated himself. It was better when that guy simply growled at him, and his change in behavior unsettled him.

Now, sitting alone at last, he could calm down, and maybe focus on ignoring the unwanted voice of his conscience.

_It’s not so bad, you know? He speaks to you and wants nothing in return, and how long has it been since someone’s treated you just like a person and not like a trophy or a title?_

He crossed his arms over his chest and looked away from the door, as if that little voice was coming from the man now away from his presence. But the train of thoughts was in motion.

_He’s loud and I can’t stand his good intentions, but maybe he’s better than Angela and Lúcio and their medical fussing, and surely he’s better than Jack and Winston asking questions._

A sigh smothered his rage, turning the flames into dismal ashes.

_Better than having to face Genji again._

Guilt fell on him once more, heavy, suffocating. In the last week his brother had tried to make a conversation twice, and both times Hanzo had only shrunken further in his own misery to avoid an actual confrontation. Genji had been hurt, the pain clear in his eyes and in the insecure tone of his voice, but he hadn’t insisted. The most masochistic part of Hanzo wished he had.

But now here he was, alone once more.

A weak, pathetic man who’d accepted to eat to regain some strength – in his body, at least. His mind was a whole different story.

_I must be strong if I want to go out. But then what?_

What place was there for him – a mutant who had spent his whole life pretending to be something different?

The thought intruded into his head and he shook it off.

_Whatever awaits me, it’s out of here. I need to leave, and I will as soon as I’m back on my feet._

It took him five more days to make up his mind, and by then he knew too much about McCree’s youth and tastes in everything, from music to food to bad vintage movies. Five days riddled with doubts and uncertainties.

In the end, though, he gave in to Angela’s lectures.

After the cereals and fruit from his breakfast, the first dose of sertraline found its way down his throat, and it tasted like a defeat.

_No, like a chance._

And then, after two more days where nothing had changed, the keys clicked once again.

This time, Hanzo opened the door.


	6. Rise

[Rise](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Zk0Sr0C3yYM)

 

It was late at night, and McCree was back from his patrol duty. A waste of time, in his opinion – after an afternoon spent walking through the tunnels of the tube he was more annoyed than anything else. Since Gabe’s departure they’d found no clues about the Registration Act, and being short of a cybermutant like Sombra was problematic. There were rumors, whispers in the mutant underground – more people missing, dawning protests silenced in blood and violence by the police, but everything was filed under “monsters on the rampage”. It didn’t help their cause at all.

Now Overwatch quarters were quiet, and he could’ve spent his night in the streets. Somehow, though, his feet had led him back here, and now he wandered the empty corridors alone.

_I should be off._

But then again, this was home once again, and he hadn’t realized how badly he’d missed a place to feel safe.

And here, at home, he had a purpose; seeing some results day after day was a relief. That very morning, Hanzo had opened the door when McCree had come with his breakfast. Not a slam as usual, and the man hadn’t hurried to take his food in his room to eat quickly and without any form of contact.

He’d even greeted him, if that tilt of his head was to be taken as a clue of anything, and McCree had smiled at him. A real smile, and he still had no idea of what had caused him such a reaction.

Hanzo Shimada, for him, was a healing wound. Burning, unbearably painful at the beginning; now the sensation was dulled, and his efforts to get him to speak were becoming increasingly less of a burden. Alright, sitting on the floor by a closed door and talking mostly to himself was not the most fun he’d ever had, but it was something. As far as he knew, no other member of Overwatch had yet managed to get this close to Hanzo, not even Angela or Lúcio, who visited him every day to check on his growing wings. Some two weeks in, and now they were impossible to hide, no matter how much Hanzo tried to cover them with his hoodie: the bumps under the fabric looked at least four feet long, but McCree had no way to check them yet. Hell, Hanzo barely allowed him a single look!

Still, the few grumpy replies he’d elicited from him were his own small victories, ones no one could compare to.

His spurs jingled softly with every step, and he walked with ease in the complete darkness. Maybe too much ease: with a shiver of concern he touched the little implant on his neck.

_Angie should give me another dose, ‘cause my eyes are feelin' a lil’ too sharp lately._

He shook the thought away and went back to his previous considerations.

Oddly enough, hating Hanzo seemed to require him more effort than trying to get him to speak. It was all Genji’s fault, of course: how could he insist in wanting to beat the shit out of someone his best friend cared so much about? All he could do was lend a hand and try his best to be of some help, and it was curiously satisfying. When Hanzo had looked him in the eye for a split second, during their breakfast, it had been impossible not to be proud of that achievement.

He turned left a couple of times and blinked slowly as hushed whispers reached his oversensitive ears. People talking in the distance - at such a late hour?

The hairs on his arms rose, and a spike of tension ran up his spine. Something had happened, of this he was sure, because he recognized Jack's low rumble and Angela gentle, yet firm reply. They all sounded so serious, there was no mistaking the situation.

Swallowing a lump of fear, McCree slowed down as the darkness faded into a pale yellow light, stronger the more he advanced down the corridor.

"... he is. I suppose we can..."

"... you. Let me do the talking, he's not..."

McCree recognized Winston even before he spoke - his smell was faint but impossible to miss. Cologne. Lots of. That foppy bastard...

He tiptoed to the door at the end of the corridor, carefully sliding on the concrete floor in slow movements that didn't make his spurs tingle too loud. Then again, no one in Overwatch had as good ears as him, and he could be really stealthy if he decided to.

The discussion gained volume and definition.

"I got it, Angela. He's your patient, he's Genji's brother, but it's been weeks already since we found him, and I need him to speak. Haven't you had enough time for him to recover?"

"It's more than his wounds, Jack! Actually, his wounds are not a problem at all! He's regenerating, although I'll never know how much until I get to speak to him, but..."

"So what? What else could be wrong with him?"

"The mere fact that you ask this..."

Zenyatta's soft words interrupted her.

"If I can, my friends, I think Angela is correct. Our guest is having a really hard time, and in my opinion, we're using an adequate amount of caution approaching him. What Jesse is doing...". A sigh, and McCree frowned.

"Look, you all, I don't give a rat’s shit about your arguments. I just... I want my brother back, ok?" Genji sounded deadly tired, and McCree could picture his face in his mind. He'd been pale and worried beyond his own good for weeks, and seeing a friend in such conditions was what mostly moved him in his attempts to pull Hanzo out of his cave.

"We know it, Genji, but there's more at stake". Jack paused and a chorus of other voices rose in a chaotic undertone. "If we..."

"Jack, they are right. What can we obtain if we force Hanzo to speak when he doesn't feel ready yet? It's not like he's causing Overwatch any big trouble - he's not even such a voracious eater", chuckled Winston. No one joined him.

"Fine, I see you are all against me". A slam, and McCree recognized the sound - Jack had just hit the table with his fist. "So what do you suggest we do? Wait, ok, and then?"

"We wait for McCree to be back and speak to him. He's the only one who..."

As Angela mentioned his name, McCree shook his head and abandoned any attempt at sneaking upon them. He marched in heavy steps to the small room they used for meetings (and to eat, and cook, and mostly everything that didn't involve taking a dump, sleeping or, in Genji and Zenyatta's case, fucking).

The voices died all of a sudden, and he had to squint at the too bright light.

"So, y'all talking 'bout lil’ old me, I see? How's doing?" he snarled, knowing how his smile looked forced and threatening. All according to his plans.

Several pairs of eyes turned to him, half of them quickly filling with embarrassment and guilt. Angela blushed fiercely, and Lúcio opened his mouth with a soft strangled moan; if there was red on his cheeks, the green tint of his skin masked it very well. "Oh - er, here you are, my friend", stuttered Winston, taking his glasses off and wiping them on his too small sweater. "We were... we..."

"... very bein’ careful not to have me 'round before havin’ this conversation". He grabbed the only free chair, flipped it and sat on it, the growing rage within him carefully shielded by his usual grin. It fooled no one, probably, because Zenyatta lowered his head and murmured a soft "I'm sorry". Only Genji and Jack seemed able to bear his gaze, and it was the latter who spoke.

"Ok, let's get down to business, kid: how did you do _that_?" His piercing blue eyes showed no trace of shame or remorse; hard and cold, straight to the goal. That was Jack Morrison in a nutshell.

"How did I do _what_? 'Cause y'know, I do a lot of things, and..."

"Jesse, man, you... you're the only one who's succeeding in his contacts with Hanzo", said Genji, and McCree, at his downtrodden face, let go of all his annoyance. There was no jealousy in Genji's dark eyes, only despair: how was it that a near stranger could get his brother to eat, perhaps even to speak, while he'd failed so many times?

McCree took a deep breath and forgot the rest of the room.

"Dude, no, it's not like that. Don't ever think he wants me to be there or wouldn’t prefer you to be near him. I mean, I actually have no idea if he has some issue with you - apart from your troubles and... and shit, I'm fucking this up". His head felt suddenly heavy, and he took it in his hands.

"No, no, not that, Jesse! I'm not - fuck, it's only for the best if you can do something, don't get me wrong! But we wanted to know _how_ you're doing this!" Genji's expression was somewhat brighter, and McCree was relieved to see him almost smile. Zenyatta straightened his back and put a protective, proud arm around Genji's shoulder.

"What we are trying to say", interjected Angela, back to her professional persona, "is that you are succeeding where we all failed: did you know that Hanzo is taking his meds?"

McCree 's head shot up, and he looked at her wide-eyed.

" _What?_ "

A chorus of three voices rang in the small room with the same question. Where McCree was simply surprised, Genji sounded desperately hopeful, and Jack very much interested. Angela cocked a thin golden eyebrow, but quickly recollected herself.

"Yes, it's been some days already. I haven't pressed the issue anymore with him because I know that pushing him would do more harm than good, but he did. Not that I expect any effect to be noticeable yet, but it's a good start".

"So it's all your doing", said Jack, rolling his shoulders. "You're breaching through his shell".

"I... I don't know, I did nothing but talk - not that it's something I usually don't do, but..."

A tiny smile trembled on Genji's lips, and he took Zenyatta's hand. His eyes screamed the most heartfelt 'thank you' McCree had ever seen.

"But it worked. And you need to insist, kid, because if we go further on we could get him to reveal us something interesting".

The vague, pleasant warmth that was beginning to spread in McCree's chest - damn, he was doing something good for real, it made him feel needed and useful - froze instantly. He turned to Jack, brows falling low above his eyes.

"He must know things. He's been in contact with Goldberg for years, and the senator had been a friend of his - of _your_ father’s", Jack nodded to Genji absentmindedly, "and I'm sure he has some details that might be..."

McCree stood up with a great clash of metal as the chair slid loudly from beneath him.

"So that's it", he said in a low growl. "You only need him for his supposed knowledge".

Tension shot through the group, and Winston held out a blue hand.

"What Jack was trying to say is..."

"... loud and clear, thank you very much". Months of frustration mounted inside him, and before he could control himself his voice rose. "'Cause that's what we are, right? Means to an end. Not people, let alone friends - or _family_ ". The last word twisted into a bitter laughter. Jack opened his mouth and slowly got to his feet, but McCree stopped him, pointing at him. "You agreed to Genji's request not because you cared about him, but because you thought Hanzo could be useful, and now you want to squeeze anything you need from him".

"Careful, McCree", said Jack, his deep voice now strained with growing anger.

"Careful? Or what? You think I care? Do you..."

" _Overwatch needs this information_!" Jack yelled, banging his fist on the table so hard Angela winced. "Don't you think I forgot what our goal is, McCree, because I live for..."

"For your vengeance! For your fucking payback, that's it! And now you want to use Hanzo, too!"

A couple of seconds of deep, cold silence, and Jack's square face hardened like stone. His scars seemed even more impressive, his eyes shards of ice.

"You're speaking as if you cared about him, and I remember very well how much you wanted to snap his neck the moment he entered the base..."

"Jack, please, sit down", tried Winston, to no avail.

McCree could feel his whole body vibrate with barely controlled fury and regret, a sensation he remembered all too well from his days as a stray dog freshly picked from the streets.

"Well, maybe I did, maybe I didn’t, but I don't like you treating us like _weapons_!"

Bad choice of words. All color left Jack's face, leaving him pale with rage. He clenched his fists and took one step toward McCree.

"Weapons? You? _I_ am a weapon! I was captured and tortured and turned into one! You have no idea what you're talking about, it was me and Gabe who..."

Bad choice of words, round two. McCree bared his teeth, feeling the sting of his growing fangs, and spat his contempt in Jack's face.

"Gabe was right. You only care about your goals, and not about your people. I wish _you_ were the one who left".

Yelling could have conveyed but a small part of the sheer pain and anger in his harsh whisper. He exchanged a last look with Jack and turned on his heels, almost running away from the crowded room. He felt Genji's eyes on him, and the rising chorus of worry behind his back - until Zenyatta said something that calmed the turmoil down. He didn't care. He couldn't stand the idea of being there anymore, not now that he'd thrown the Gabe card on the table. His name was spoken rarely, and never with the heated longing he felt - but done was done, and he only wanted to leave.

But once more his feet carried him in an unexpected direction. Still fuming, the open wound inside him bleeding again, he could have just headed to the door and out into the night; he was tired, but not so much to stop him from running away, had he wanted to, and instead, he found himself slowing down as he reached the med bay.

Before he could realize it, he was in front of Hanzo's room.

_Why?_

He was panting lightly, not from the short run but from the chaos of emotions inside him, and he stared at the dark glass of the door.

Why here, why Hanzo? A man he barely knew and almost despised - but not really, not anymore... why him?

And the answer came, clear and simple to his mind.

_Because he wants nothing from me, and I can do something to make his life better._

He faced the door, his senses alert. No one was coming after him, and he could almost hear Angela warning Jack to let him be, to calm down, the two of them, because speaking now would be pointless.

Suddenly, he felt rather guilty for his outburst. He should have known better - Jack was suffering from Gabe's departure more than all of Overwatch together, and throwing it into his face had been mean.

With a sigh he placed his flesh hand on the door, letting his head hang forward.

_I should apologize, sooner or later. Or just go away and never come back._

The small window on the floor turned bright all of a sudden, and McCree took a step back.

"I... er... sorry, didn't want to wake you up, darlin'. I was just... y'know, having a late night walk..."

Hanzo's silhouette appeared, black in the flickering light.

"McCree?"

That rich voice, still hoarse with sleep, surprised him. McCree instinctively took the key in his fingers, but then he waited.

"Hey there. I - uh - I..."

"What happened? Is Genji alright?"

_What happened, you ask? I happen to be a moron, and I have hurt a person I care about because I can't shut my trap, and while I only wanted to help now I feel like a complete shit._

"Worry not, everyone's fine, I just had a bit of an argument. I'm a mouthy fella, in case you missed it..."

A snort came from the other side of the door, and McCree marveled at how such a brief sound could be so full of sarcasm and scorn. It made him smile, and before he could think twice he turned the key in the hole.

In the silence, he sat in his usual spot on the floor, ruffling his hair.

At least here he was safe from regrets and bad memories, and he could share the company of another human being without the need to justify himself.

He felt horrible now, and a part of him just wanted to head back to the mess room and apologize to Jack and the others for his poor show, but he knew that right now he was still too troubled to cause anything but further yelling, so he just sat there. Waiting for nothing in particular, seeking some comfort in the familiar taste of tobacco of a chain of cigarettes.

After the third one, unexpected, something happened.

The door opened, and McCree turned around to see Hanzo standing there, eyes still puffy with sleep and hair loose on his shoulders. He didn't say a word, didn't even look at him: barefoot, in a t-shirt that showed the shape of his growing wings, he took a tentative step out of the room, closed the door behind him and sat on the floor on the other side of the door.

From the depths of his own misery, McCree felt a wave of surprise invest him. He couldn't but stare at Hanzo, his stern profile black against the near darkness of the corridor and a thousand blue sparkles shining on his scaled arm.

_He's out of his room. Is this a problem or...?_

Or. Definitely _or_.

For a long time, none of them spoke, and that silence was oddly comforting. When McCree pressed the butt of his last cigarette to the floor, his metal fingers tickled against the concrete, and Hanzo turned looked at him for a split second before his eyes went back to the wall.

"How did you lose your arm?" he asked, and there was no mistaking it: it was a real question, asked in a low voice now clear of any disgust or hatred. A definite improvement, and yet so unexpected McCree only gaped for a moment.

"I... you mean... oh, this one", he said; he would have felt like an idiot, but Hanzo clicked his tongue and shook his head.

"Yes, that one. The other seems still in place, right?"

"Quite right, yeah", he laughed. Still amazed, he lifted his hand in front of his face and wiggled his fingers. It was a very nice prosthetics, glimmering of titanium plates that hid a crazy complicated system of circuits. He could move his fingers as if they were his own, and even feel. And it had been ages since someone asked him about his accident - most of Overwatch just learned it from Gabe. "Got caught in a bear trap".

Hanzo turned to look at him, and in the dim light McCree saw him arch his eyebrows in perplexity.

“A bear trap. You put your _hand_ in a bear trap”.

“Not really – well, yeah, that’s what happened, but it was not intentional... I was running and I didn’t see it, that’s all”.

“I still don’t get it. Last time I checked, people ran on their feet, not on…”

“Not me. Not when I’m in my other form”. An unplanned sadness filtered in his voice, and he stared at his hands. Not that he was ashamed of what he was, but the memory of those long past days hiding in the New Mexico desert, unable to control himself and scared of the beastly eyes that stared at him from every reflecting surface, still haunted him.

Especially those regarding his accident. He’d been a teen at the time, and already the folks in the countryside had begun with their rumors about a mysterious creature lurking in the shadows. In both his forms, he’d been a scrawny, desperate creature, with legs too long and feet too big for his lanky frame. A lonely, orphaned stray pup terrified by the idea of being found and caught and _feared_.

The trap had been hidden in the bushes, and he honestly hadn’t seen it. He still couldn’t remember its shape, but the snap, the revolting sound of broken bones and the immediate shock when he’d realized he couldn’t move were still very much alive in his nightmares.

“Had I been just like this”, and he vaguely gestured at his body, “I would probably have passed out, but my… my survival instinct, or something like that, made me frantic. I tried to set myself free, but I was bleeding so much, and the smell drove me insane”. A low chuckle, dry and mirthless. “I was weak when Gabe found me, and already morphing back to human, but I still tried to bite him”.

“Wait – wait, I don’t understand. What are you talking about? What other form?”

McCree sighed and clenched his fists. He fought for and with Overwatch – or at least he’d done so for years – as that creature he couldn't even name, part wolf, part cougar, 100% a problem; he didn’t like that version of himself, but he was accustomed to having around him people who didn’t mind it anymore.

Hanzo was a different story.

He looked at him intently, serious, and took a deep breath.

“I can turn into a beast. Not that I have a say in the matter, but... it happens, sometimes, even if now I can control it most of the time. I've been like this since I was born”.

With a sharp snort, Hanzo shrugged.

“You don’t look less human than me. I’d say you’re pretty normal, not like me or Genji or Lúcio, and…”

“I have Angela to thank for this”. He bent his neck and exposed the small implant. “Gabe – I told you ‘bout him, right? – saved my life, but she’s the one who provides me with the serum. The one that lets me control my mutation”.

“So it’s possible? I could… stop being wrong?” Hope and rejection mixed in the same anguished question. McCree’s heart stung with sorrow for the young man at his side, still stubbornly refusing his own nature.

“Yer not _wrong_. None of us is, and we can’t stop being mutants. It’s not magic, just science… it helps me be less dangerous, unless I need to be”.

Hanzo stared at him for a long moment, and the light of expectation in his eyes slowly faded away. For the time of a heartbeat he looked so tired and lonely McCree felt genuinely sorry for him. He knew Hanzo was a little older than him, since Genji told him so, but despite his black beard and sharp jaw now he looked young. Lost.

The illusion disappeared quickly, and Hanzo nodded.

“So you can chose how you want to look. How _convenient_ ”, and vitriol was back in his voice. McCree felt the old distaste rising inside him, but out of sheer willpower he swallowed back a snarky reply.

“Definitely convenient, since otherwise I’d be…”

“Still better than me. I’m stuck with my deformity, and there’s nothing I can do about it. They… they just grow back, and I can’t stand it”.

“You know what I can’t stand?” he snapped, narrowing his eyes and forfeiting patience. “The fact that you may be a freak, but I’m a monster, and a dangerous one too!”

“Oh, please”, Hanzo laughed with sour sarcasm. “I’m some kind of bat or gargoyle or whatever, while you are just…”

“Wanna see? Alright, great. Enjoy the show, Shimada”, he growled.

It didn’t take him more than a thought. He just had to let go of his control and listen to the obscure, savage side of his brain, and the change began. It had been worse before Overwatch and the serum, when every hint of fear or anger triggered the beast, but now he indeed could control it. He closed his eyes in front of Hanzo’s shocked expression, but as the seams of his shirt tensed on his shoulders, he knew what the other man saw. Back arching, human proportion shifting to something out of a horror tale – he felt his face turn into a muzzle, his teeth sharpening into fangs and every muscle thickening. Stronger, faster and scary, dark hair covering his whole body…

He stopped before his clothes ripped. A slow breath, and his body went back to his normal form.

When McCree opened his eyes, Hanzo stood motionless, staring at him with his mouth slightly open. He didn’t shrink from him, but maybe he was just frozen in fear.

McCree tilted his head left and right, and his neck creaked loudly.

“See, that’s what I was talking about”, he said, shrugging. His words were slurred, since his teeth were still going back from their fang stage. “I’d rather have wings”.

“I… I see”. Hanzo blinked, and the shocked look vanished from his face. He wrapped his arms around his legs and lowered his head; the black curtain of his hair fell around his face, hiding his expression.

McCree nodded, but he let whatever his revelation might have caused sink in Hanzo’s mind.

_At least he didn’t run away screaming. This is a good sign._

And then he wondered why it seemed so important. He took one more cigarette and pressed it between his lips, smoking in silence.

“You're definitely not a monster, but I suppose you’re having it worse than me”, said Hanzo under his breath after a while, as if he was talking to himself.

McCree breathed out a ring of smoke and cracked a smile.

“It’s not that bad, now that I have Overwatch to check on me”. _I left and now it looks like I’m back._ All at once, the idea of leaving again sounded off, and he couldn’t understand why.

The night in the base was silent, and as they sat side by side McCree flicked his ears to listen, but no sound reached his senses. The meeting was probably over, and his friends were most likely off to bed, concerned and hurt after the argument.

To mask his guilt, he tried to focus on Hanzo.

His t-shirt was stretched on his wings, and under the thin fabric his companion looked way more fit than he’d expected. Thick neck, equally thick arms, long fingers clenched on his black sweatpants, he had the figure of a fighter; after some days of good food, his face looked less gaunt.

“So, by the way…” McCree squirmed to a more comfortable position. “How are your wings going? They’re growing pretty fast, right?”

Hanzo tensed instantly, turning his face further away.

“I don’t want to talk about it”, he grunted. Just two weeks before, McCree could have unloaded some of his frustration after such a rude reply, but now he felt bad enough already.

He fumbled for the right words, then gave up and just spoke his mind.

“Denyin’ yer true nature won’t bring you anywhere”, he said, more serious than his usual self. “There’s no goin’ back to whatever _before_ you think you miss, but if you stop lookin’ at your past you’ll see there’s some future ahead. Can’t say it’s gonna be easy or not painful, but it’s real. _You_ are real, your wings are real – not less than your legs or your nose. They’re just a part of you, and even if you were raised to fear and despise those like us, remember that here you can find a place if you want to”. He put his hands on his knees and pushed himself to his feet. Hanzo was still curled up on the floor, his wings rising and falling with his rhythmic breath.

_Panic and understanding go hand in hand, here. I only wish I could do something more to make things easier for you, mate._

He usually called instinct the primal force that awakened inside him when he ran as the creature, but now that same instinct moved his hand. He reached down and ruffled Hanzo’s hair, thoroughly enjoying the grumbling and the broody stare that his gesture caused. Grumpy was still better than traumatized.

“Don’t touch me, you…”

“Cheer up, dude. Yer in the best place you could be right now, and you look like a smart fella: keep on goin’ like this, and everything is gonna be alright, ok?”

Hanzo’s grimace softened a bit, and with a reluctant sigh he stared at McCree.

“If you say so…”

“Have some rest, now. I’ll see you tomorrow”, and he left, feeling somewhat better than when he’d arrived. He took his time, walking slowly through the empty corridors and allowing his fatigue to settle in.

By the time he got to his room, though, he stopped frozen.

_The door. I forgot to close the door!_

He slapped his forehead and turned around, sprinting to the med bay, but by the time he got in sight of Hanzo’s room he slowed his pace.

The man didn’t look much like someone willing to attempt an escape, not anymore. And even if he wanted to, there was no way he could leave the base. And in any case…

McCree took one last turn in the darkness, and saw the light inside Hanzo’s room was still on. The door closed with a soft creaking and the tinkling of the keys still hanging from the hole, and in a second the small window went dark. Two more minutes, and after some ruffling of covers McCree could hear – if he listened attentively – the rhythm of Hanzo’s breath slow down into sleep.

 _This is quite unexpected_ , he thought, standing there in the darkness.

And as he walked his way back, smiling to himself, a realization dawned inside him

_Maybe he deserves a chance. And some trust._

 

 

A light sleeper, McCree was up and about before the vast majority of Overwatch the next morning. He couldn’t say running on four hours of rest had him at his finest, but at least he could enjoy the first brewed coffee without having to speak to anyone. Especially not after the night before.

In his socks and pajama pants he yawned and opened one of the cabinets, fumbling for the crumpled bag of cookies behind a row of assorted mugs.

He’d just grabbed it when a step by the door surprised his still half asleep senses. He looked behind his shoulder and saw Jack Morrison standing there, deep dark circles under his eyes and greying hair sticking up on his head.

“Hey”, grunted Jack, rolling his shoulders back.

McCree acknowledged him with a nod and pulled the bag out. It was light in his hands, and the ruffling of paper as he opened it added up to the noise of the chair as Jack sat down.

For a while, McCree didn’t turn around to look at him; starting the day with a reprise of their quarrel was the last thing he wanted, and the words ‘I’m sorry’ were stuck in his throat. He didn’t really feel like saying them out loud, and his own pride suggested him to wait for Jack to do the first move. He looked down at the bag in his hands and sighed: one last cookie was left.

Bad luck, and at the same time a good chance. He held out his arm, still facing the cabinet, and wiggled his hand.

For a couple of seconds nothing happened, then Jack took the bag without a word, and McCree waited.

“It’s the last one”, said Jack with his rough voice.

“Yeah”, and he shrugged, filling two mugs from the coffeemaker. He slid one on the table, in front of Jack.

It was awkward, a goofy attempt at an apology that he himself wouldn’t have accepted, but despite his fears, Jack relaxed and cracked his dry, crooked smile.

McCree, still standing and leaning against the counter, smelled his coffee with his eyes low. His right sock sported a hole, he needed to stitch it up again.

“I checked Hanzo’s room”.

Suddenly wide awake, McCree looked at Jack. The man was still smiling, his hands wrapped around the mug. When their eyes met, there was no anger in Jack’s blue ones; they looked tired and worn, and most of all sad.

“He’s still sleeping like a log”. One of Jack’s hands went to the pocket of his pants, and when the fist opened on the table a small key rolled from his palm. “I don’t think we need this anymore”. He chugged down the steaming coffee in two gulps and stood up under McCree’s shocked stare.

“I… I don’t…”

A heavy hand landed on his shoulder. Jack Morrison was almost as tall as McCree, his shoulders even broader, but his strong grip didn’t hold any trace of threat.

“We’re fine, kid. You’re doing a good job”. One last squeeze, and he left.

McCree eventually remembered to close his mouth, his hand shaking a bit around his coffee.

_So I didn’t screw things up, then? I’m really doing something useful, and for once it doesn’t involve hunting people down._

A shy smile rose to his lips, and he lifted the mug to hide it – from no one but himself.

It was ok if he insisted on his path, and maybe if his efforts were good to something he could convince Hanzo to speak to Genji, and lead the two brothers to make their peace at last. Genji already wanted Hanzo back, and Hanzo… well, there surely was something beyond his despair, he could feel it with something deeper than his wits.

Trusting him would not be easy, but despite his own crippling doubts, he was already sensing a change was happening. Hanzo had smiled at him – McCree’s heart leaped slightly in his chest at the thought of how peculiar the expression was on the other man’s face. It made his eyes shine, and no matter how brief it had been, it was already impressed in McCree’s memory. Just like the unexpected softness of his hair, and…

McCree shuddered and felt the tip of his ears go unusually warm. Of course it was the coffee’s fault, and yet he ignored the warning and took a long sip.

Predictably enough, it burned. A lot. It scorched his tongue and made him cough, hot dark trickles running down his beard.

“Fucking… Jack… Morrison”, he panted under his breath, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. The old man’s mouth was probably lined with asbestos to be that insensitive to heat.

He finished sipping his coffee with more caution, and by the time he was done the base was starting to buzz with life.

Genji was the first to join him, finding McCree still busy washing his mug in the sink.

“’Morning”, he said, more cheerful than he wanted to show. Genji, still in the corridor, stretched out his wings to their full span and yawned, his dark brows furrowing.

“Someone’s in a good mood”, he croaked. Zenyatta appeared behind him, and unlike his boyfriend, he looked well rested. He greeted McCree with a tiny bow – his hair was growing back, and now a soft dark fuzz covered his head – and his usual sweet smile.

McCree dried his hands on his pants and turned around, crossing his arms over his chest.

“I’ve had it worse”, he admitted in a vague voice. Zenyatta poured the last of the coffee and passed the first cup to Genji, who thanked him with a tired smile.

“I’m glad you and Jack are not at odds anymore, and even more that Hanzo is opening up to you”, he said gently, sitting cross-legged on a chair.

“Hey, dude, no using your powers on me without my consent!” McCree was not really angry, but somewhat embarrassed, and when Zenyatta laughed softly it was even worse.

“You know very well you’d know if I were doing such thing. Ask Genji, right, my dear?” he asked, smoothing Genji’s ruffled hair on his forehead.

Genji yawned again and rubbed his eyes with his fists, but he gladly leaned in Zenyatta’s caress. Something deep down inside McCree mumbled with envy, and he didn’t even know why.

“Definitely. Have you seen my brother already today?”

“Uh – er… no, not yet, but he talked a bit last night, after I…”

“He did it?” Genji emerged from his drowsiness all at once, and his eyes sparkled with hope. McCree blushed violently.

“A bit”, he repeated. “But yeah, it’s something, I think”.

He couldn’t bear Genji’s smile – what if he failed? He’d hurt not just Hanzo, but his best friend too. And himself, a thought that made his heart clench. He had to look away, but at the corner of his eye he saw Zenyatta shake his head once.

There was a moment of silence, only interrupted by Lena’s distant voice.

“Jesse, we are ever so grateful for your efforts”, said Zenyatta in his almost hypnotic voice. “You have a good heart; Hanzo is not the only one who needs to heal, but I need you to know that we’re not leaving you alone on purpose”.

“It’s ok, Zen, I don’t need much myself”, he quickly reassured him, dismissing the topic with a wave of his hand.

“No, I mean it. I think I could help Hanzo’s recovery, but I fear he’s not ready to go that deep inside himself. Not until he _feels_ ready, at least”, and his young face darkened with concern. It was Genji’s time to be protective, judging by the way he wrapped his wing around Zenyatta to hold him close.

“Don’t mind us too much, Jesse. It’s hard for us too, but… thank you for what you’re doing. If you can show my brother that there’s a world outside of his head – even outside of this base! – I’ll be forever grateful. Of course, I want to talk to him”, and his voice broke, but he stubbornly shook his head. That gesture made him look so much like Hanzo that McCree held his breath. “He’s all’s left of my family, but I’ve come to realize I can’t be selfish and I need to place his well being first. The rest is just something more”.

McCree brushed his feet on the floor, quite at loss for words. He ran his fingers through his beard and worried his lip.

“Good. I think? Can’t say I have any idea of what I’m doin’, but…”

“The right thing. And that’s enough. Just… just take Hanzo out of this hell he’s living. You look like the one who could do it”, concluded Genji with a smirk full of trust McCree wasn’t so sure he deserved.

During the day, as he sat side by side with Hanzo in the corridor, chatting and smiling more often than was necessary, or when he helped Lena with some emergency repair of their old helicarrier, or again as he sat alone on the hill hiding the base, those words echoed in his head.

_Outside._

The long rays of the late afternoon sun painted the sky as red as the embers of his cigarette. San Angeles was a blur of lights and skyscrapers that swallowed the horizon, and around him were only the remains of the old landslide that covered a good portion of the base. There were no trees in sight, only some bushes that defied drought and pollution.

_Outside. Take him outside._

It was something he should discuss with Jack and Winston, or even better with Angela. But the more he considered it, the crazier the idea seemed.

And Jesse McCree _loved_ crazy ideas.

What moved him, he couldn’t tell. All he knew was that one moment he was sitting there, smoking and watching the sunset with his head buzzing with uncertainty, and the next he was running back to the base.

He almost ran into Lúcio, and vaguely apologized as he kept on stumbling back to his room. A mess, with piles of clothes on the floor, a faded t-shirt hanging from the head of an old guitar and a mismatched sock on his pillow. He rummaged behind his bed and found what he needed, heart racing wildly.

_It’s gonna work. No stopping to overthink it, or I’ll never do it._

With his hands full he raced back to the corridor, muttering a panting “sorry!” as he sprinted by Angela, rather pissed by his unseemly demeanor.

Hanzo’s door was open, and a low noise came from the back of the room. McCree stopped abruptly, stumbling on the threshold, and hit the doorframe with his shoulder.

The buzzing stopped, and Hanzo emerged from the bathroom.

McCree suddenly forgot good manners and openly stared at him. The noise had come from an electric razor, and now Hanzo sported a short, tidy goatee that gave him an unexpected elegant look; his undercut too was freshly shaved, and all in all he seemed healthier than in the past weeks.

“Yes?” he asked, somewhere between polite and mildly annoyed. McCree searched for words, but had no time to speak, for Hanzo prevented him. “Don’t look at me like that. My face isn’t always covered in fur, you know?”

McCree laughed briefly.

“No, that’s rather clear”, he muttered. Hanzo heard him and rolled his eyes, gracing him with a quick smirk. McCree recollected himself and winked; a flick of his arm, and he threw one of the two helmets he was carrying to Hanzo, who caught it with no effort.

Confusion knitted his brow.

“What’s this?” he asked.

“Get ready, darlin’, we’re goin' on a ride”. He tucked his own helmet under his arm and enjoyed Hanzo’s perplexed expression. “I’m gonna show you the world through the eyes of a mutant”.

 


	7. Stricken

 

[Stricken](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3moLkjvhEu0)  


 

“… I beg you pardon?”

Hanzo's face was still damp, and warm droplets were running down his chest and under his t-shirt; he looked from McCree to the helmet, and then back to McCree. The shit eating grin on his face might have looked dangerous, hadn’t it been so weirdly contagious; Hanzo had to bit the inside of his cheek not to smile back.

“Come on, my motorbike is big enough for the two of us. And you’ve been trapped here for too long”. He patted the red helmet under his arm and gestured to the outside of the room. “Hurry, before Jack comes here and realizes we’re doin’ it”.

“But why would you want to… I mean, I’m not supposed to leave the base, I’m…”

“Yer no prisoner, honeybun, and you’ll be with me”. His dark eyes shone with mischief, excitement, even, and for the first time Hanzo didn’t just look at McCree – he _saw_ him. His same age, maybe a bit younger, with a bright smile that looked almost childish if compared to his first, brutal impression, and eyes that held a shadow of innocence and good will.

He didn’t realize he’d been staring with his mouth half open for a good minute, until McCree blinked and stuttered.

“I mean – if you want to, I just thought that – er – maybe you could use some fresh air, and…”

“It’s ok”, he interrupted him. “I just didn’t think anyone would care…”

“I do”.

Hanzo felt his chest tighten a little at that simple reply, and his fingers twitched on the helmet. Out of the blue, he realized this was a good opportunity to escape – and at the same time, he knew, with a certainty that transcended his common sense, that he was not going to run away. Not now, probably never.

“Oh”, he exhaled, still unable to look away from McCree. They stood motionless for a while, eyes locked and air sizzling with tension.

“B-But you might want to take a jacket or something? It can be quite cold at night. If you don’t have one I can pick something up at my place, it should be loose enough to hide your wings, if you want to…”

“No”, and as he heard how harsh his tone was, he bowed his head. “But you’re very kind”.

“So you want to come with me?”

Hanzo considered the whole situation for a moment, but his mind was completely blank. In that nothingness, the idea of doing something with McCree – something that didn’t involve rules or conditioning – burst like a firework.

He stopped thinking and nodded, stern and serious, and went to his bed to put his boots on. With the corner of his eye, he saw McCree beam, and couldn’t but smile in return, glad that his hair would hide his excitement.

“Let’s do this”, he said, and in the blink of an eye, they were sneaking out of the base, as quiet as they could be – which was not very quiet, considering McCree’s spurs.

Overwatch had found itself a nice hideout, he considered as they left the corridors he’d already seen for more dismal, empty ones. Every now and then, something blinked blue between the pipes on the ceiling, and Hanzo looked up.

“What are those?”

“Security cameras. The place’s riddled with them, but don’t worry, yer with me”.  
  
“I’m not worried”, he said, and when McCree turned to him with an unreadable expression on his face he felt his ears go warm.

By the time they got to a rusty red door, Hanzo had no idea where they were. They’d taken countless turns, and true enough he would have gotten lost, had he decided to attempt an escape. McCree placed his flesh hand on the wall, and a hidden pad flashed for a second before the door opened with a hiss.

The first whiff of dusty and clear air made his head spin a bit. It had been weeks since he’d last been under the sky, and now he realized how trapped he’d felt.

For his whole life.

They followed a path only visible in McCree’s eyes down a hill, and Hanzo fought the impulse of stopping every other step to look at the world. The sky was purple and red over San Angeles, and the landscape around them barren, all rocky slopes and dead trees.

He loved it.

“We’re almost there, I have to park my ride far from prying eyes, y’know”, said McCree, turning to shot a glance at Hanzo.

“Why am I not surprised you have a bike?” he said as they turned behind a boulder and slid into a slit in the mountain.

“D’you think I could rock the biker look? Like – let my beard grow, wear a bandana and so on?”

“Your beard is fine as it is”, and he slapped his palm on his mouth.

_Where… where was that coming from?_

But McCree seemed unbothered; maybe his eyes sparkled a little more as they crinkled in amusement.

“Thank you kindly, darlin’… oh, here she is”, and he stepped aside. It was dark enough to hide Hanzo’s untimely blush, and even to prevent him to see whatever McCree was pointing at.

“Oh, right, you probably can’t see much, can you, honey? Don’t move”, and he proceeded deeper down the cave. With a grumble, the engine went on, and a blinding light invested Hanzo. He squinted and shielded his eyes with his hand.

“Isn’t she a beauty?”

When he’d grown accustomed to the blaze, he could see it. The motorcycle was a huge, black thing, with a high clutch and long forks holding large wheels. The seat was indeed big enough for two grown men, and Hanzo fidgeted with his helmet.

“I don’t know much about motorcycles, but I suppose it – _she_ is”, he admitted.

McCree seemed pleased, and Hanzo saw him bit his lip before he slid his helmet on.

“Ready?” he asked, muffled by the padding.

Hanzo walked to the bike and mirrored his gesture.

The smell of McCree wrapped around him, smoke and soap and something that was simply McCree, definitely not unpleasant. Hanzo closed his eyes and breathed the scent in for a second before he climbed on the back of the motorcycle.

A moment of sheer embarrassment underlined the roaring of the engine. Hanzo didn’t know what to do with his hands, now that he was pressed against a whole lot of McCree in front of him; his first impulse was to wrap his arms around the other man’s waist, but this would have made his less than dignified position even more compromising.

Luckily for him, McCree didn’t seem to care. He turned around, his face masked by the helmet’s mirror-like visor, and his voice sounded muffled.

“There’s a handle behind you, darlin’, or you can hold on to me if you prefer. I surely wouldn’t mind”.

Hanzo gritted his teeth and blindly reached for such handle, gripping it so hard his knuckles cracked.

McCree’s back quivered with laughter against his chest, and with a flick of his wrist, they set in motion.

San Angeles’ air went from warm and damp to cool as they drove down the hills, and the landscape blended into a patchwork of black and orange with the setting of the sun. Hanzo shivered lightly, if from the sweat drying on his arms or from the thrill and fear of their adventure he couldn’t tell, and for a while he tried to ignore the sensation. By the time they left the rocky path for a smoother, more proper street, he was resorting to his stock of determination not to let go of the handle and take McCree’s advice. The body against him was warm, the fabric of the black serape draped around his shoulders soft, and it would have been only reasonable to make the best out of the circumstances.

But being Hanzo a stoic – or stubborn, as Genji would have corrected him – man, he clenched his jaws and ignored the discomfort.

Going back to San Angeles was no big deal _per se_ , but as they approached the city Hanzo started to hold on his physical struggles to ignore the mounting anxiety inside him. Another ten miles and the skyline would have been perfectly recognizable, and the slender shape of the Shimada Tower with it.

Ignoring his own legacy had been easy enough in his months on the run, and getting caught by Overwatch had helped him push his father’s death far from his thoughts for a while.

Now grief and regret surged in his chest, and every bit of his own curse stung – the wings now reaching his waist, stretching his borrowed t-shirt, the desperate need to get rid of every altered detail in his appearance, the smell of blood and Genji’s eyes searching his own. He sunk his teeth in his lower lip and closed his eyes, leaning against McCree’s back to close the world outside of his head.

_What am I doing?_

For one hour, or maybe longer, he felt trapped – inside his mind and on the back of McCree’s motorcycle. There was no escaping as long as they were riding.

Still, when the highway melted into the dismal chaos of the suburbs, with the gaping eyes of the slums staring at them, a different kind of tension descended on him. As McCree slowed down their pace, taking narrower roads dimly lit by flickering street lights, Hanzo dared to check their surroundings again.

He didn’t know the place, and at the same time, he was all too familiar with it. For two years he’d haunted that same kind of environment, living on whatever occasions crime could offer him, but never felt part of anything. No friends, no contacts, just faceless people that provided him with what little he needed to survive before moving on.

He didn’t belong here, just like he’d never belonged with his family.

He swallowed a knot of loneliness and remorse and took a deep breath. The scent in the helmet seemed stronger now, and for unknown reasons it slowly soothed his growing panic.

McCree stopped by a trash bin and lifted his visor; taken aback, Hanzo straightened his back and tried to remove himself from the other’s body, with no success considering how little room he had.

“So, here we are”, he said. His cheeks looked squished, and when he took his helmet off his hair were all ruffled; he didn’t even try to smooth it down. “Let’s just go for a stroll, alright?”

He threw a long leg over the seat and dismounted, leaving Hanzo stiff and confused.

“Here?” he asked, looking around and finally letting go of the handle. It was a depressing place, dark and littered with garbage. A deep cough resonated from a barred door, and Hanzo turned to see a couple of people snuggled together on the threshold. The grey and black buildings, here and there sparkling with neon signs, extended up to the very sky in a great wall of concrete and hopelessness.

“Yeah, why not? It’s a good place like any other”.

Hanzo slowly removed his helmet, blinking in the orange light.

Here were people. Ready to see him, to look at his deformity, to point and laugh and frame him as a mutant. He clenched his fingers on the helmet and visibly shivered.

“Hey, ‘s everything alright?” McCree’s voice was low, unbearably gentle, and Hanzo couldn’t look at him. However, not replying would have made him sound stupid, which was even worse than rude.

Eyes cast on his knees, he muttered: “It’s the first time I… I go out with these”, and he flexed his shoulders. To his horror, his wings fluttered minutely, and the sensation of muscles tensing and relaxing all down their length was so unexpectedly pleasant he grimaced. It was as if those ever-growing limbs craved to move and spread, and a remote part of his being wanted to follow this instinct.

“Oh… I’m sorry, I didn’t think about this – that’s some big stuff, right?” He ran his metal hand through his hair, and then down his scruffy sideburns. “I should’ve guessed it, after all I saw how you…”

His voice died in a mumble, and Hanzo looked away.

He tried not to linger on the shame of McCree finding him in a puddle of blood, or on how he’d gone from spitefully calling him “Shimada” to using his first name, but now he couldn’t leave that mental place. He almost craved the sensation of blades cutting through his skin, the agonizing pain of shattered bones and severed tendons. It was something he knew, the twisted and perverted reassurance of being in control of his own body.

A tap on his forearm fished him from his anguish, and when he peeked from the fall of his hair he saw McCree’s outstretched hand.

“Here, take this”, he said matter-of-factly. His black serape was a bundle in his fist, and he was offering it to Hanzo. “You don’t wanna catch a cold, do you?”

It was a goofy gesture and a blatant lie: Hanzo knew what he was referring to, and McCree as well, but here he was, trying to comfort him in his heartfelt way. Hanzo looked at the serape and waited for his throat to unclench. His voice sounded nagging, an echo of his old self, and he hated his words the moment he spoke them.

“I don’t need your pity”.

“I know, but you might need this. And I bet you’d look good in it”.

Slowly, Hanzo blinked and looked up at McCree. No matter how hard he searched, there was no trace of commiseration on his face, as if his offering was just a kind gesture.

“What do you want from me?” he blurted out. No one did anything without wanting something in return. Ever.

McCree rolled his eyes and wiggled his fist; the fabric swayed with the movement.

“You to get off my ride and walk with me. Nothing more, I promise”.

And damn, he looked sincere. The half smile that tilted his lips even more so.

“Come on, I’ll keep you safe”.

“As if I needed it”, Hanzo snorted, and McCree chuckled.

“That’s my man. We can go back anytime you want, if it’s too much…”

Leveraging on his pride: that guy was smarter than he’d thought. Hanzo scrunched his nose but accepted the serape, draping it around his shoulders and eventually climbing off the bike.

He checked his wings, twisting his back to do so, and frowned.

“I look like the Hunchback of Notre Dame”.

“If you asked me, I’d say your backstory is fucked up enough for a Hugo novel”. McCree took a cigarette and started walking down the dirty sidewalk, and Hanzo, after a second of bewilderment, followed him. He almost had to run to keep up with McCree’s long strides, and as he caught up with him he forgot his troubles for a moment.

“You read the book?”

“Yeah, why so shocked? That’s not flattering, sunshine”, but he was smiling, and Hanzo flushed pink.

“I didn’t mean… it’s just… you look more like the adventure kind of person, I didn’t think you were into classic literature”.

McCree’s lips stretched some more into a wolfish grin, and Hanzo skipped a breath.

“There’s a whole lot of things you don’t know ‘bout me, sugarplum”, he said, and for how vaguely threatening he’d sounded, Hanzo couldn’t but feel intrigued.

“You spent the last two weeks telling me unnecessary details about your past life, including those times you were shot in unseemly places – how much more may there be to know?”

“Uh, let me see… you never asked me what my favorite drink is, or if I prefer cats or dogs…”

“I smelled bourbon on you, once. And I’d say you’re a dog person”.

“Just because of my mutation it doesn’t mean that…”

“Am I right?” he insisted with a smile, and McCree grumbled but nodded.

“… yeah, you are. Still, you didn’t ask”.

The alley they were walking down was still mostly empty. When they crossed paths with a man in shades, so out of place in the near darkness, Hanzo winced and moved to the other side of McCree, walking by the wall with his hands in his pockets.

“You disliked me, and for very good reasons. I thought – I still think it was pointless to push you into a conversation you…”

“Hanzo, please. I’m the one who spent the last weeks trying to get you out of your room!”

“And I still wonder why”.

McCree didn’t answer for a while, and Hanzo considered their talk done. Curiosity faded into bitterness, and he slouched his shoulders, kicking a pebble on the street.

“You wanna know why?” said McCree as they turned to an even more depressing area. The relics of an empty building loomed upon them, the hollows of its countless windows black against the dirty concrete. McCree didn’t wait for Hanzo and continued: “It was for Genji's sake, at first. He’s still waiting for you to talk to him, and I think he deserves better than your stubborn silence”.

An arrow through his heart. Hanzo hissed and shook his head, clenching his fists in his pockets.

“This is none of your concern”, he snapped, but McCree wasn’t impressed, his voice still light as it used to be.

“It is, because your brother is one of my best friends, and I remember when we rescued him. He’s been broken for such a long time, and even now that Zenyatta worked his charm on him and cleared him from his anger, I know he needs you to heal completely. Yer his only family, Hanzo”.

“A family he’s better off without”, and it was true – it _had_ to be true, he was not strong enough to face his regret over and over again.

“I dunno, mate, when we brought him in he was as furious as a wild cat, wouldn’t let anyone near and only had snarky replies. Sounds like someone I know, right?” And he winked. The bloody bastard _winked_. “Zenyatta is the best thing that could’ve happened to him, a pure soul who could put his powers to use for a good cause. He can…” He vaguely gestured to his head, wiggling his fingers. “How can I say it? He takes all the shit goin’ through your brain and lays it down in front of you, so you can sort out your own troubles. It worked miracles for Genji, I swear to god”.

“I don’t need his help. I know perfectly well what my mistakes were, and I don’t deserve forgiveness. Let alone sympathy”.

“Genji’s forgiven you, tho. You don’t get to tell other people how to feel ‘bout you, sugar”.

Hanzo pressed his lips together and looked at his boots as they passed under a pink neon light. No one stood in front of what looked like a club, and he silenced his frustration.

_He can’t forgive me, no one could and surely I can’t. Not now or ever. Why are you telling me this?_

But McCree pressed on.

“This is one of the reasons, anyway. I did it for Genji, and I did it for myself too – never knew you were a mutant, I’ve been pretty rough on ya at the beginning”.

“It was well deserved, and I don’t want to be treated differently just because I’m… this thing”, he lifted his wings in distaste, but McCree hushed him with a wave of his fingers.

“It’s not that. I… I don’t talk ‘bout him often, but Gabe taught me that it doesn’t matter if yer human or mutant, anyone can be a friend. Or an enemy, for what matters”. He briefly looked at Hanzo, the shadow of sorrow making his eyes look sweeter. “No, things changed when I realized you were in pain. It was easier to hate you for what you did to Genji, but seeing how you were tryin’ to hurt yerself made me understand it was more complicated. So I wanted to make things better – not for you, but for me”.

“I told you already, spare me your pity, I…”

“Are you even listenin’? You are a challenge, and the more I know you, the more I see how many things yer hidin’ under the surface. You did call the feds on Genji, but the reason is something painful and complicated, and I think you may use a friend”.

Hanzo stopped before they reached the corner. San Angeles’ lowtown roared in the distance with countless sirens and horns, punctuated by the occasional scream.

McCree, a step ahead of him, looked back with a raised eyebrow.

“What’s up?”

A friend? _Him_?

He didn’t know what a friend was. Even as a kid everyone had treated him like the special boy, the rich, smart one; everyone wanted to share his light, but nobody cared enough to keep in touch anytime he had to move to another country, nor stood by his side when supposedly Genji died. And all of them, every time, had wanted something in return.

McCree looked like a different story, a new experience he had troubles understanding.

“You don’t need to do this, McCree. I’m used at being alone”.

“Yeah, but you don’t need to be anymore. Overwatch is problematic, but people are concerned about you – you could give ‘em a chance”.

Hanzo was speechless. He knew Genji was the one who’d wanted him back, but he was determined not to overthink it. And now apparently an organization of misfits dedicated to fighting the same corruption that had misled him in the past worried about his own well being.

It was too much.

“I know it can be hard, Hanzo. Hell, for you it’s probably harder than it’d been for me back in the day”. A big, warm hand landed on his shoulder, rubbing it with a familiarity that, in any other moment, would have had him recoil in outrage. “But we’re tryin’ our best to make this world a decent place for mutants, too – that’s why I wanted you here, tonight”.

While they were speaking, Hanzo hadn’t paid much attention to the city around him, but now that McCree had stopped he saw it.

He saw _them_.

People living in the street, filthy and gaunt – a woman pushing a cart full of plastic bags, a young tattooed couple sleeping on a tattered quilt in a graveyard of empty bottles. On the other side of the street a man with a matted grey beard sung softly to himself, his dark coat way too heavy for California weather, and some ten feet from him a kid not older than fourteen sat with his head on his knees.

The poor, the forgotten, those Hanzo had never really cared about. He lived in a different world, and had nothing to share with them. He felt sorry – he’d been taught to feel grateful for what he had and sorry for those less lucky than him- but he didn’t understand.

“What do you…”

The hand on his shoulder slid down his arm, warm skin against his scales, and McCree gently pushed him to turn around.

“Look closer”, he whispered.

“I don’t see why…”

But McCree nodded, and Hanzo followed his gaze.

The tip of a tail peeked from under the woman’s dirty long skirt, and those on the girl’s arm were not tattoos, but a pattern of red and black skin. There were tiny antlers on the old man’s head, almost invisible in the shock of his hair, and when the young boy looked at them Hanzo saw a third eye blink on his forehead.

His words turned into a muffled wail.

Mutants. All of them.

“They’re like us”, McCree whispered, his voice heavy with frustration. “And we’re like all the other men and women with a different DNA, but some people can’t accept us”. His hand was still on Hanzo’s arm, and he gently urged him to follow him.

Of course it was not the first time he wandered the outskirts of society, and back then it had been mostly to bring Genji back from one of his escapes, but now it was different. The people surviving here, in a parallel world of hunger and squalor, all sported some sort of deformity.

_No, mutation. They’re simply mutants, not monsters._

“This is where Mercy works, mostly. She spends her days on the field, providin’ these folks with every kind of medical help she can offer”, McCree said. Hanzo resisted the urge to lean against him and to look away.

“Why?” he managed to breathe out, and McCree laughed mirthlessly.

“What? Why Angela risks her life every day to help the hopeless? It’s her mission and her power, and she cares deeply about everyone. You included”.

“No, why are they here?” A young woman with spikes on her cheekbones cradled a yelling infant, and he closed his eyes. The cry followed them as they took a detour under the deserted porch of an abandoned building.

“They’ve got nowhere else to go. I didn’t, either, but at seventeen I was lucky enough to trade my left arm for a family. But these people aren’t as lucky – few would hire a mutant, and this is where they pick people for the Registration Act. Those no one will miss are very good samples, and in their labs no one can hear them scream”.

Nausea gripped his jaws, and Hanzo snatched his arm from McCree’s hand.

“If you don’t think I feel guilty enough already you’re very mistaken”, he snarled, unease creeping under his skin. McCree’s face went from serious to genuinely incredulous.

“No, wait, you’re entirely wrong! I never meant to…”

“I don’t care what you meant! I know how horrible my choices have been, why must you throw this in my face?”

“Fuck, Hanzo, I… no, come on, I just…”

But it was too late, and it was not even McCree’s fault. While his stern outer layer protested his outrage, Hanzo’s heart cracked and bled.

 _Unfair_ , roared his whole being, presenting him with everything was wrong with people being discriminated against only because of the way they looked.

 _Unfair_ , as the sadistic treatment mutants were subjected to, abused and playing the Guinea pig for a devious branch of the government.

He staggered and swayed to the nearest column, his hands sliding down the graffiti-covered surface. It was filthy and he didn’t care, as he pressed his forehead to the concrete, panting and fighting down tears of panic and disgust. His knees slowly gave way, and he fell sitting on the ground, pressing his palms to his eyes.

Even without seeing him, he realized McCree was crouching at his side, without touching him. Just a dark presence near enough to wrap him in a cloud of his scent.

“Hanzo?”

He shook his head; speaking now was impossible, and had McCree touched him he’d have attacked him.

But Jesse McCree was a sensible man, and he just stood there, waiting.

“Ok, partner, I’m here, it’s fine”. A voice as smooth as warm honey, gentle enough to bring tears to Hanzo’s eyes.

“I don’t understand”, he croaked after a moment, still trembling. “Why do you care? Why _me_?”

He peeked up through his fingers, and saw McCree reach out for his hand, then stop and sigh.

“’Cause we’re fighting a war, and yer part of it, whether you want it or not. And you’re so sad and confused, I can’t stand it, ok? This… this is the third reason I’m doing this. For you”.

Hanzo slowly let his hands drop from his face. The serape was half unrolled from his shoulders, and McCree pointed at it with his chin.

“I’m about to wrap it back ‘round you. D’you mind?”

“Oh… thank you”, but when McCree smiled and moved closer, Hanzo stopped him with a gesture of his hand. “No. Wait”.

The black serape had been an offering of friendship from McCree, but for Hanzo it was something else.

It meant hiding, over and over again, in a place where nobody cared about his wings or his scales, where his name didn’t exist and his past was only a dark place in his head.

The Registration Act was an abomination, and Overwatch was trying its best to unveil the government’s crimes. Was there any place for cowardice in such a situation? Still sitting on the ground, Hanzo slowly shrugged the serape off his shoulders, catching it before it fell, and neatly folded it in his lap. He stared at it, heart still swelling with the overwhelming discoveries of the night, then handed it back to its rightful owner.

“Thank you”, he said again, his voice low but steadier.

McCree opened his mouth as if to say something, but then he shook his head with a small, odd smile and took his serape back. They locked eyes for what seemed like forever, and Hanzo rummaged through his brain to find something that could break the awkward silence.

In vain, because he couldn’t avert his eyes, and the quiet light shining from McCree’s smile seemed to show him a path. Not an easy one, nor one he thought he could ever take, but it was there, dark and steep and scary – and he was not alone.

With a soft laugh, McCree draped the serape around his body and extended his flesh hand.

“Shall we go?”, and maybe it was just his mind playing him tricks, but the man’s deep voice sounded faintly shaking. Hanzo jumped a little and recollected himself, finally realizing how pathetic his conditions were: sitting on the dirty ground, troubled and with his wings giving him a crooked silhouette. After one deliberate breath he accepted McCree’s hand and let him pull him to his feet, but let go of him almost immediately. His palm felt empty, and he tried to ignore the sensation.

“I agree, I’ve seen enough. We should go back to the base before someone notices we’re gone”.

“Oh, they’ve noticed already”. He patted the rear pocket of his jeans with a huge grin. “I’ve been ignoring their calls since we got here”.

"So this means we're in trouble?" He knew he should have felt guilty, or at least somewhat concerned - but after his breakdown his emotions felt messed up, and an unexpected amusement sparkled through his words.

McCree, walking at his side, shot him an equally cheerful stare.

"Trouble? Not at all, darlin'. Probably we'll have to face Jack scolding us, but it's gonna be fine. Trust me".

And to his surprise, Hanzo believed him.

The silence they shared as they walked their way back to the motorbike was different from what it used to be, comfortable rather than awkward. Enough to be addictive.

To let him lower his defenses, and it was something he soon came to regret.

As they turned the last corner he caught a first glimpse of the bike, and he was already waiting for McCree to open the seat compartment and retrieve their helmets, when his new friend - what a strange, new thing it was - stopped in the middle of the sidewalk.

"What now? Have you forgotten something?" While he spoke, he checked on McCree's face, and his good humor soured. Something was off with him, a hardness on his features that made the hair on the back of his head stand in nervous anticipation.

McCree was still himself, square jaw and ruffled hair and everything; not a trace of the creature he could become, and yet Hanzo tensed as he slowly followed his eyes.

Two people were standing by the bike, young men with baggy cargo pants and baseball hats. They looked normal, almost boring, but when the nearest one noticed them approaching, Hanzo suppressed a shiver of disgust.

The stranger was in his twenties at most, with freckles on his nose and a definite smell of weed surrounding him. His snicker didn't bode anything good, and Hanzo instinctively clenched his fists.

"Hey, that's your ride?" his friend asked, looking at McCree. The change on his face startled Hanzo: from nervous and cautious to overly cheerful, with a grin different from those he'd seen. A mask, and a very good one. Scary.

"Yeah", he replied, and with a smooth movement, he stepped in front of Hanzo, as if to protect him. A gesture he hated - he needed no such care, he was not a child! "Such a pretty girl, isn't she?"

"Oh yeah, we were admiring it", said the guy, nodding appreciatively at the shiny black body. "You don't see such beauties here often".

"Just strolling downtown, mate. Gotta go back home now". McCree fished the keys from his front pocket, his smile unfaltering and yet very out of place. Or maybe, Hanzo considered, it was just his own perception, a mixture of impending, vague danger and annoyance.

"I see, I see... well, we should let you go, then".

 _I don't understand if you're naive or just plain stupid._ Hanzo slowly shook his head: if those guys were looking for trouble, they'd picked the wrong couple. He himself was buff enough to fight them both, but McCree was even taller. A very bad idea.

"It's a vintage one, right? The forks are different from those you see around", insisted the guy. His friend, still silent, looked at Hanzo over McCree's shoulder; unimpressed, he bore his stare, his face hard as stone.

"It is, an old charming lady. I got some job done on the engine and now she..."

"What's that thing you're carrying with you?"

When the second guy spoke, his voice was sharp. He took a step toward Hanzo, and McCree dropped his friendly appearance.

"Mind your tongue, dude. I trust yer not lookin' for trouble", he growled, suddenly ready to fight.

"Is that a mutant?", and he pointed at Hanzo; in doing so his t-shirt rose slightly over his waist, revealing the edges of a gun tucked into his belt. His friend blinked and frowned.

"A mutant could hardly afford such a bike..."

"Look at him, Josh - look at his back, he's not _normal_. What kind of monster are you, mutant?"

Hanzo felt blood leaving his face. White-hot rage invaded him, and his wings snapped under his shirt.

"I'll make you pay for that, you..."

"Han, no". McCree stopped him mid-stride, grabbing his wrist and holding him still. "It's not worth it, and I'm sure those fine young gentlemen now will let us go without any more discussions. Am I right?"

"I won't let them treat us like this!"

" _Us_?" Said the armed one. His long face now looked beastly, his mouth too big, his eyes dumb and cruel. "So you too are one of those abominations..."

Hanzo wrestled his arm out of McCree's grip, and before he could realize it he bared his teeth and bent his knees in a guard position.

"I said no", insisted McCree, turning his back to the two strangers and putting his hand on Hanzo's chest. "Attack a human and we're even more in trouble than we already are".

"Hey! You said _attack_? Are you threatening us?" barked the nearest guy. His friend nervously looked around.

"Bob, let's go, come on, it's not worth our time..."

Hanzo stared at McCree beyond a red veil of fury. His voice dropped to a hiss.

"Are you letting them insult you like this?"

"As if I cared what those two pups say", he huffed in a very unconvincing light-hearted tone. As Hanzo kept on checking on the two guys, McCree was completely focused on his face. A world of unsaid things reflected in his eyes, the struggle to keep calm when he wanted to join Hanzo's rightful wrath, the importance of putting their cause above the petty irritation they were facing.

Hanzo was not a patient man, and as far as he could read nor was McCree, but he'd learned how to control his impulses way better than him.

The hand splayed on his chest twitched in warning, and McCree lifted his eyebrows.

"Now we keep calm and go back to the bike, ok?"

"What bike? _Ours_?" grunted the guy, Bob. The vibration in his voice triggered some instinct inside Hanzo – he sounded worse than just high. Drunk, too, maybe?

"Come on Bob, we're not..."

"If you think I'll let a mutant insult me, threaten me and then just walk away like that you're very wrong!"

" _No_!"

Years of training forced his reaction, a flash of a movement alerted him. Hanzo saw the stranger slid his hand to his belt and acted instinctively; had McCree been ready to fight him, probably his move would have been ineffective, but he caught him by surprise. A push of his shoulder, right at the center of McCree's chest, unbalanced him and made him stagger to keep on his feet.

The gun fired, and Hanzo was still trying to find a balanced position when flames erupted on his side.

His ears rang with the explosion, and the voices of the two kids were a distant echo. It hurt in a way he hadn't expected - not the burning of a slash, nor the agony of broken bones. Those he knew all too well. It was deep and thick, the bullet gnawing at his skin and muscles and exiting from his back. He swayed as he looked down, where a crimson patch was spreading on his left side, a palm under his ribcage; a twin spot was warming his lower back. Face, fingers, every part of his body felt numb while blood soaked his clothes and dripped in quick trickles down his leg.

"Fuck... you shot him!"

"I... I was... I..."

Hanzo sunk slowly on his knees, a hand pressed to the wound and the blood warm and sticky on his fingers. McCree caught him before he hit the ground, and his face was that of pure fear.

"We must leave! Now!" Josh, or Bob, it didn't matter, was panicking, his voice now the squeaking of a small animal. Hanzo could barely hear them, and McCree lifted his head with a ferocious growl.

But he didn't move. He stood crouched, cradling Hanzo against him while the two ran away into the night. The distant cacophony of alarms and traffic swallowed the last of their footsteps, and Hanzo took a tentative breath.

Now it hurt. For real. The numbness was subsiding, and he grimaced as McCree tried to lay him down.

"Hanzo? Stay with me, please, look at me I'm here, ok? I'm here, it's... it's gonna be fine, I promise, I... let me call Angela, she'll be here in no time, I'm not leaving you", and while one hand still held Hanzo's head, the other fumbled to get his phone.

He wanted to laugh. Not at McCree's despair, not at all - he looked so scared, and maybe it was the blood loss, but Hanzo could see tears shine in his eyes. No, what made him grimly hilarious was that his own curse was now saving his life.

"I'm here, Han, I'm here", McCree was saying, the phone slipping from his metal hand.

"I... I know. You're not a small thing", he chuckled. The blinding pain was already fading into a fiery burning, and with a grimace he tried to move. A grunt escaped his lips, and McCree leaned closer.

"Stop squirming, you'll make it worse! Fuck, fuck it's bad enough like it is, look at all that blood..." and once more he tried to grab his phone. Hanzo swatted his hand away, and mid-gesture he clung to his shoulder.

"No, it's not... I... ugh. Put me down, McCree", and he hissed through his teeth.

"What do you mean?"

Hanzo pushed him back, now stronger than before, and tried to lift the hem of his t-shirt.

"Look, you got a bullet straight through your spleen, and yer probably bleedin' to death, I..."

"I'm not dying, stop fussing!" He managed to perch himself on his elbows, and now the pain felt much like a strained - a very, _very_ badly strained - muscle. He uncovered his stomach and ran a trembling hand on the blood pooling there, spreading it to reveal a black hole. The wound was alive under his fingers, pulsating slowly and visibly shrinking.

"Fuck me sideways..." muttered McCree, somewhere between horrified and amazed. Hanzo forced his breath to come out slow and even, wincing as his flesh healed under his eyes. One last shot of pain, and his skin formed back, smooth and fresh. He snorted and fell back, panting with nausea.

McCree was kneeling at his side, and his hands pawed at his stomach, approximately cleaning it from the blood and pressing in sheer shock.

"F-Fuck", he said again, eyes wide and face pale. Hanzo slapped his hands away, weaker than he'd intended, and squirmed a bit.

"Stop it, it tickles..."

"But... Fuck..."

"I... I know from experience that your vocabulary features something more than the same cuss word over and over again", he whispered. The asphalt was rough under him, and keeping his eyes closed was easier. He was shaking from blood loss and shock, but his dizziness was quietly giving way.

"Ok, ok, but... are you... _ok_? Are you fine?" McCree's hands went to his face and squished his cheeks, and Hanzo opened one eye to give him a furious look. Not as furious as he'd have liked.

"I've never been shot before, but it seems like I'm fine? I think, at least..."

He let McCree help him sit up, and he clutched his shoulders to steady himself.

"You took a bullet for me".

"It looks like I did..."

And next thing he knew, McCree was holding him, one hand on the back of his neck, the other gingerly wrapped around his waist. It was awkward, it was wrong, and Hanzo couldn't let go of him. He buried his nose in the other man's chest and let him squeeze him.

"I thought I'd lost you. You don't... don't ever do that again. You scared the shit out of me!"

Hanzo let out a breathy chuckle at the sincere concern in McCree's voice. It sounded much like affection.

"If it's of any comfort, I didn't like it either".

McCree took him by his arms and pushed him back. He was pale, his mouth trembling, and in his eyes shone something Hanzo couldn't quite identify.

"Why?"

 _Because it was the right thing to do. They would have hurt you just because you are born different from them, and tonight you showed me the real world._ My _world, one I need to be part of - but hold my hand while I explore it, because I'm scared._

He gulped and bowed his head. Maybe there was going to be a time for such a painful, honest answer, but it was not now.

"I didn't think about what I was doing. Now stop fretting and... and help me stand up".

Now he sounded like his own, commanding self. Almost, at least, enough to reassure himself.

McCree stood still for a moment, his skin slowly going back to its normal color, with maybe an extra hint of pink on his cheeks, and then he nodded to himself.

"Alright, pumpkin", and he slid his arm under Hanzo's shoulders. With some effort he hauled him to his feet, and Hanzo staggered just a little. "Don't worry, I got you".

Walking was not as easy as he had imagined; his legs felt wobbly, his head too light, but McCree didn't let him fall as he led him to the bike.

"We should call Angela nonetheless", he suggested, his free hand lingering on the seat.

"And wait here for God knows how long? Look at me, I'm covered in blood, someone would notice", and he gestured at his middle section; probably his face was stained in red too where McCree had touched him. The memory made his heart race a bit faster.

McCree took his disastrous appearance in, rubbing his hand through his beard, but in the end, he agreed.

"Yer pretty right, we wouldn't go unnoticed. D'you think you can ride with me?"

"I will. But now let's hurry, I'm not at my best".

In a minute they were ready to leave, but before McCree could set off he turned around, visor lifted.

"Do me a favor, darlin'. Hold on to me".

"Why should I..."

"Please".

Hanzo rolled his eyes, but when he wrapped his arms around McCree's waist something settled down inside his chest. He was warm and real, he was here - and loneliness felt less heavy after a lifetime.

The long way back home was filled with McCree's smell, with the subtle twitching of muscles under Hanzo's hands, the hard pressure of his hips against his legs. Hanzo bit his lip and tried to stifle his growing confusion, but to no avail.

Too many thoughts, too many answers to questions he didn't even know he had; the more he tried to unravel them, the more tangled they became, a chaos that threatened to choke him.

San Angeles disappeared in the distance, and he understood.

He might have died, and so many things would have been left unsaid. But how could he find the words when he didn't even know what he felt?

Maybe there was a way.

When McCree parked his bike in the hidden cave, Hanzo knew what had to be done. Before he could find the strength to speak to Genji, or to let himself name whatever he was feeling, he needed clarity.

He needed to have a chat with someone he hadn't even met yet.

 


	8. Open your eyes

 

 

[ Open your eyes](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8eYHvrgPqQ0)

 

 

Zenyatta’s skin was sweaty and hot under his hands, his hips rocking fast in his lap. Genji sunk his fingers in the tensed flesh of his thighs and swallowed a grunt at a particularly wicked twitch around his cock. Even with his eyes closed, he could see Zenyatta’s lithe body move on top of him, and he knew all too well how deeply concentrated and flushed his face would be; for some reasons, though, he couldn’t bring himself to look at him, no matter how good their lovemaking felt. 

With a muffled growl he thrust deeper, shivering at the soft moan Zenyatta let out for him. Sorrow and love mixed into a painful flame that blinded him, and he wished he could let go of his thoughts and just drown in the tension building up inside him.

And yet…

Long, delicate hands brushed his face, and Genji arched his back. He felt Zenyatta hunch forward, breathed in the sweet air from his lips.

“Dearest, look at me”, a whisper that trembled against his mouth, warm and panting. The gentlest of commands, one that Genji couldn’t but obey. He opened his eyes for a second, pulling Zenyatta down for a kiss. They didn’t stop moving, cradling each other in a heated embrace as their tongues spoke their own language of slick caresses and languid flicks. But after a moment, Zenyatta bit his lower lip, hard and fast – a warning.

“Genji, your… mind is troubled”, he groaned, raking his fingers down Genji’s neck and splaying them on his chest, among the hideous scars that slashed it.

“Too easy with your powers”, he grinned, but his forced humor didn’t fool Zenyatta, who sat upright and ground against him hard and slow, his own erection bouncing against his stomach with every movement. 

“I don’t need my powers to know it. Your heart speaks to me”, and he pressed his palm at the center of his chest. He lifted himself on his knees and then sunk down, head thrown back and lip caught between his teeth.

Genji stared at him for a moment and all his thoughts faded in the wonderful sight of his beloved giving in to pleasure. It had always been like that – lust and harmony melting into one, making sex so much more than just a physical act. Zenyatta’s lashes quivered on his cheekbones, his lips swollen with kisses and even more addictive. 

A wave of need surged in his chest; he threw his arms around Zenyatta’s waist and pushed his wings to the mattress, rolling them both on the bed without sliding out. Now standing on top of him he slung Zenyatta’s long legs over his shoulders, the rhythm of the slap of skin on skin growing faster.

“Then you know what concerns me”, he breathed out, leaning forward to capture Zenyatta’s mouth in another kiss. 

“I do… and…  _ ah _ !” He writhed on the bed as Genji brushed the right spot, and turned his face on the pillow, teeth bared and sweat beading on his collarbones. “Don’t stop”, he pleaded, grabbing Genji’s arms to urge him forward.

“No way, love”, he hissed with a crooked smile. 

“Things… are changing. I can feel it – he’ll come to you, I know it… G-Genji,  _ more _ ”, he stuttered, and Genji was happy to obey. Not just because he, too, was starting to lose his composure, his movements growing out of control – but Zenyatta was so painfully beautiful when he let go of his calm appearance, panting hard under him and grabbing handfuls of sheets. 

He bit his neck, tasting salt on his skin, and dragged his hand down his body; taut muscles trembled under his fingers, and as he wrapped his palm around Zenyatta’s erection he barely stifled a sigh. It pulsated in his hand, the head slick and throbbing, and as he slid down to the base the sudden clenching around him made him grunt.

Zenyatta bucked up, fucking Genji’s hand in sync with the erratic thrusts deep inside him.

“Almost there”, and Genji could barely recognize his own voice. Almost two years, and every time it surprised him how perfectly they fit together. Zenyatta turned to face him, a sly smile on his dark lips. Hadn’t it been for the glazed look in his golden eyes he would have looked almost in command, but when his hand went back to Genji’s heart his voice faltered.

“Can I?” he asked in a deep whisper, and Genji only nodded once. His lids fell on his eyes, and he let the scorching hot wire of pleasure wrap around him.

It was good enough as it was, but when Zenyatta gasped loudly and hooked his legs around his hips, the golden blaze in the darkness robbed Genji of every trace of control.

He felt Zenyatta’s pleasure run through his veins, his own body tensing and clenching with a blinding release held for too long, hot and alive in his fist. His strokes became chaotic, his heart too big for his chest, and for a second he felt like his skin was too tight to hold the rush of pleasure that washed over him. He let out a loud cry, and then another one, softer, as he emptied himself inside Zenyatta, and the echo of his name still reverberated in the small room. 

He came back to himself and blinked, just to realize his wings were still shaking with the intensity of their orgasm. Zenyatta smiled dreamily and planted a quick kiss on the tip of Genji’s nose.

This made him laugh under his breath, and he slid out, kneeling between Zenyatta's legs.

“I love you, you know?” he whispered, and Zenyatta stretched blissfully.

“Mhm – and I love you too. Shower?”

Genji laughed in earnest and got to his feet, holding out his hands to help Zenyatta off the bed. Minutes later, with Zenyatta curled contentedly on the bed, he sat on the edge of the mattress and rubbed a clean towel in his hair; some of the green dye stained the fabric.

“Do you want to talk, my love?”

Genji sighed and let his arms fall to his sides with a helpless shrug.

“You already know what I’m thinking about, but bringing up my brother during sex was…” he made a gagging sound and pretended to retch, and Zenyatta chuckled and playfully kicked his wing. 

“It would be more useful if you spoke your troubles out loud. You know it would help you”.

Genji dropped the towel and lay back on the bed, among crumpled sheets that still smelled of them.

“Alright. I’d like to say that I’m simply worried about him, but you’re correct – things  _ are  _ changing. And in the last week even more so”.

It had been five days since Hanzo had returned to the base, covered in blood but seemingly unharmed. He’d been there when McCree had tried to explain to a furiously concerned Angela about their little adventure, and had seen his brother hold Jack’s stare with a brand new strength. Eventually, it had been Jack who’d put his hand on Angela’s shoulder, listening to her shocked anger but trying to soothe her fear. And, most of all, he’d seen Hanzo, in the following days, sneaking out of his room to shyly explore the base.

“… and it’s ok, I mean, he’s clearly beginning to shed his stupid barriers, but he’s still avoiding me. And I don’t know why”.

Zenyatta sat up on the pillow and pulled Genji until his head was resting in his lap. His voice was hypnotic as the slow caress through his hair.

“As you said, Hanzo is starting his way up a healing path. Neither of us can force him to a pace he doesn’t feel adequate, and we should just be glad he found in Jesse someone who could offer him a helping hand”.

Genji almost purred under Zenyatta’s touch, but then looked up to his face.

“Do you think they might be friends? Just… just friends, mind you, but it would be great if…”

Zenyatta’s smile widened and he bowed to nib at Genji’s ear, making him squirm.

“Are you looking for gossip, dearest?”

“Not at all! It’s just that…”

A sharp knock on the door startled them both. Genji bolted on his feet and frowned: it was really late, even if in their underground hideout there were no windows to show the night sky, and a call at such an hour usually meant trouble. He quickly wrapped the towel around his hips while Zenyatta slid into his yellow pants, and walked to the door.

He opened it, holding the towel with his other hand, and almost lost his grip when he saw who was standing there.

“Brother”, said Hanzo, his head low and his hair loose on his shoulders. He looked better, beard neatly trimmed and the dark circles under his eyes not as deep as they used to be, but he still had a hard time meeting Genji’s gaze.

“Hanzo! What happened? Are you ok?” he asked frantically, trying to keep his towel in place. Hanzo noticed his struggles and frowned, peeking behind his shoulders; the ghost of his old smirk flashed on his lips.

“Am I interrupting something?” he asked, and Genji swallowed a lump of emotion. He forced it back and gave his brother a somewhat mischievous grin.

“Nah, we were done already. Out of your cave at last, I see”.

The sarcastic shadow fell from his face, and Hanzo worried his lip, turning his head to the side. When he did so, Genji saw the gibbous shape of his wings, now long enough to appear under the hem of his worn t-shirt. They looked still kind of half-formed, but now the bone structures stretching the membrane were clearly deducible, blue where Genji’s were green.

“Hey, what’s up?” he asked softly, incredulous at this new opening from his brother and at the same time worried for him. 

“I… I need to talk to Zenyatta”, he admitted, as if the words were wrung from his throat. Genji bit back his disappointment, but not quickly enough; Hanzo looked him straight in the eyes and shook his head. “I must do it, or I’ll mess up everything again. I need to believe it’s… it’s going to help me”. 

His dark eyes were so clear, so open on a void of self-hatred and regrets that Genji only wanted to hug him and cry their quarrel away, but Hanzo was right. 

One thing at a time, and no pushing an already difficult enough healing process. He took a deep breath, but before he could speak Zenyatta appeared behind him.

“It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, Hanzo”, he said in his serene voice. Genji turned to look at him after catching a glimpse of pink on his brother’s ears, and Zenyatta winked minutely. 

_ I got this _ , those big, wise eyes seemed to say, and the slender hand resting lightly on the small of his back hid a caress.

“Ah, so it’s you… I wasn’t expecting someone so…”

Genji tensed. He’d forgiven Hanzo for his supposed betrayal, but no way he was going to let him speak a single word against his man.

But, to his surprise, Hanzo just lifted his shoulders.

“… young”, he concluded simply.

“Wisdom comes with age, but I’m doing my best. I’ll be glad to offer my assistance”.

“I know it’s really late, and you probably have better things to do, so if you don’t want to I can wait for a better time, you just…”

“No”, interrupted him Zenyatta, stopping the quickened flow of nervous words. Hanzo gulped and clenched his fists, eyes still focused on everything but the two people in front of him, and Genji realized his panic. It was as if his thoughts were a cry for help –  _ if I can make you wait until tomorrow then I’ll change my mind, and my determination is fading already. _

Genji smiled and moved aside to let Zenyatta walk past him.

“It’s ok, you can borrow my boyfriend. And… and I know everything will be fine”, but the true meaning of his words remained stuck in his throat.

_ I wish I could be with you, and I need to know what demons you’re fighting, brother. But this is not a task I can face, and I must be contented with your decision for now. _

Zenyatta bowed to Hanzo and waved to the empty corridor.

“Follow me, we need somewhere quiet”.

After one last, terrified look at Genji, Hanzo set his jaw to a stubborn angle and followed him.

True, it was late, but Genji knew that he wouldn’t sleep that night. He watched as Zenyatta silently led Hanzo to face his nightmares, and in the end, he let go of a dry sob he’d been holding for too long.

_ Please, come back, brother. I’m waiting for you. _

 

 

˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜

 

 

_ This is a mistake. _

The training room tried his best to look like a gym and failed miserably. There were boxing sacks hanging from the wall, dumbbells scattered around, and some tattered mats covered half of the linoleum floor, but everything looked so old and ragged it was a miracle everything kept itself together. Still, the gear was neatly polished and the air smelled – well, not exactly fresh, with no windows to let the outside breeze in, but reasonably clean. 

It looked nothing like the gym he and Genji had used to share back home.

But the Shimada Tower didn’t feel like home anymore.

_ This is a mistake _ , Hanzo kept on repeating to himself as he entered the room in Zenyatta’s trail. The guy was a riddle, a boy in his early twenties that carried himself with the dignity of a man three times his age, with a gentle face and an aura of power that frightened him.

“You don’t need to worry, Hanzo. I was waiting for you, and I’m glad you found it in your heart to take this step”.

“Are you in my head now?” he snapped. It was way too easy to remember that he was a mutant, and not some random lanky kid.

Zenyatta shook his head and smirked at him.

“Believe me, you would know if I was”. He sat on the floor with his legs crossed and patted the mat in front of him. “Come, sit with me”.

Hanzo waited, glaring at Zenyatta with absolute distrust. Not because he was a mutant – maybe  _ partially _ because of it, but he tried his best to force that prejudice out of his mind – but because he spoke to him as if they’d known each other for years. 

The way he knelt down, with his legs neatly folded under him and his hands balled on his thighs, didn’t feel as graceful as he’d intended; his back was too stiff, his muscles clenched with hopeless tension. He held his head high and tried not to grab the fabric of his pants to anchor himself to reality.

Zenyatta, in front of him, stared at him with a vague smile on his lips that unnerved Hanzo.

“What do I have to expect?” he asked, hating the shadow of fear in his tone.

“The utmost respect for your boundaries. We can stop the moment it gets too intense, keep this in mind”. He relaxed his shoulders and continued: “I’m a psionic. I can go through your mind and emotions and ease you from their burden for a moment. You will see all your troubles from a different perspective, and it will help you find your peace. Not that different from the Pensieve in Dumbledore’s office”, and his smile widened.

The familiar reference melted some of the stress in Hanzo’s guts. He acknowledged Zenyatta’s words with a sigh and tilted his head to the side.

“Did Genji go through this too?”

“He did”.

“It helped him?”

“I won’t be falsely humble, so yes, I daresay it was crucial to his recovery”.

A thousand more questions clogged his mind – _will it hurt? Will I have to live my atrocities all over again? What if I can’t take it? What if it’s not effective?_ – but none shaped into words. The last thing he needed was to show his weakness and let Zenyatta see how vulnerable he was. Having McCree stand by his side in those last days, when his decision was hardening inside him despite all his doubts, had been more significant than he was willing to admit, and with a flash of shame he wondered where he was.

_ No, I must do this on my own, this is all the help I can muster. _

He steadied his breath to a forced even rhythm and clenched his teeth.

“Are you ready?”

“I am”, and it was a lie, because suddenly his brain exploded in a blaze of golden light. He felt like his lungs were collapsing in his chest, his heart beating at a furious, maddening pace. 

He was falling – inside himself, and at the same time outside of the world and into the past.

Zenyatta had told the truth: his own emotions laid bare in front of him, sharp and clear like blades.

From the faraway, almost forgotten resentment he’d harboured as a child, when Genji’s birth had marked their mother’s death, to the guilt in their childhood years, when he’d learned how to love his brother and felt a monster for having blamed him for their loss – all those memories were safe in a hidden place in his head, and he thought them long settled down. Now they burned like stab wounds, their weight even more burdensome with the complications coming with age.

But there was more than the two of them in his personal hell. He saw his father, the stern line of his mouth when he looked at him, the smile he always had for Genji, and the sickening pain he’d felt when the old man died drowned him. Love and disappointment, his need to be noticed and cared for like a son, not just an heir, the pride he’d taken in being exactly what Sojiro had wanted from him – ashes and shadows, all gone when his father had left this world. Alone. 

Hanzo wanted to scream his grief out, and he was vaguely aware of the warm traces of tears on his cheeks.

It was his father’s fault. He’d been the one who locked Genji’s up, conditioning him – them both – to think it was the only reasonable option to preserve the Shimada’s good name. And it was his own fault, too, because he’d known all along how unfair it was, how hypocritical and disgusting, and yet he’d kept quiet. 

_ The best for our family – no, for our name. For our legacy.  _

But even that, even blaming it all on his father alone, was a lie. Hanzo saw the truth flash in front of him, and it was made of the desire to give his children the best life he could, shielding them from the ugliness of the real world, wrapping them in falsehood and giving them a role they could fit in. He hadn’t known their struggles, nor wanted to know, because Sojiro Shimada was a weak man who could not bear the suffering of his beloved ones, and who spent his whole life balancing on the blade between duty and love. 

Hanzo realized he was panting, and from the kaleidoscope of shattered memories Zenyatta’s kind voice spoke to him.

“You’re shaking, Hanzo. We should…”

“No”, he growled, tasting blood on the tip of his tongue. And the pictures resumed – the still too real pain of his broken wings and the resented relief now that he didn’t have to distort reality anymore, the utter shame of his betrayal. Out of brainwashing, a whirlwind of love and bitterness for Genji, he relived the call to Goldberg and the stinging doubt of deceit, the smothered awareness of the lies he’d told himself. And under this all, covered in layers of tales he told himself, shone the insufferable truth. Looking at it was like staring at the sun, and yet he was drawn to it like a suicidal moth.

_ I did it because I was tired. No more lies – it was selfish, and no matter how much I wanted it to be for Genji’s good, I did it for  _ me _. To stop this delirious masquerade. _

Like an arrow ripped from flesh, it tore his heart in two, and the old wounds bled again. Genji’s screams, his years living in the slums, all came back to him – and he knew that it was the only way for him to be whole again.

He’d abandoned his honor out of exhaustion, and now, in the secret base of a tattered organization with noble goals and little means, he had a chance to be the man he was meant to be. Not the rich successor to a famous corporation, but a mutant. A fighter.

“Hanzo, your nose is bl…”

“ _ Shut up _ !” 

Of course Zenyatta was right, a remote part of his senses recorded the thick trail touching his lips. His trip, though, wasn’t over yet, and a crowd of faces blinked in his head. Jack Morrison’s anger and hidden despair, Lúcio’s kindness and Angela’s stubborn dedication to her cause. He saw Winston, the calming voice he’d ignored since his first day in Overwatch’s lair now oddly soothing, and the spry girl he knew as Lena, whose story he didn’t even know. Zenyatta was right at arm’s reach, but it was his peaceful smile that sparkled inside him, his powers a healing force that had brought Genji back from his rightful anger.

He saw another smile, and his heart sang – were there’d been fangs now he only saw kindness, a heart too big for this world, the smell of smoke and clean clothes, the warmth of the strong body pressed against him a physical promise of… what? Not being alone anymore, not being dead inside. It was a clean feeling burning deep inside his soul, one he didn’t dare to name and that he thought lost for him. He saw amber eyes shining with amusement over a past of darkness, a pure spirit despite all he’d been through, and a small sob bubbled in his chest. He wanted to reach out and brush the thick brown lock on his forehead, and…

“ _ Enough _ !”

It was like a shove, and when the contact broke Hanzo found himself on all fours, even if he hadn’t realized he had moved. The echo of his cry still rasped in his throat, and his hands, clenched on the mat, were clawed like the talons of a beast. A red droplet fell on his knuckles, and he licked blood from his lips.

Zenyatta reached him, and from the corner of his eye Hanzo saw him extend his dark hand to his shoulder.

“Don’t… don’t touch me…”

“As you wish. What you saw is…”

His fist wrapped around Zenyatta’s wrist, fast as a snake, and Hanzo growled in his face. Heart thumping wild, a sickening headache rumbling behind his eyes, he gathered the remains of his shock to speak.

“You won’t talk to anyone about what you’ve seen. Swear it!”

Zenyatta opened his eyes wide and shook his head without even trying to wrestle himself free.

“Such beauty shining under the ruins… Hanzo, can’t you see it? There’s hope for you, Genji was right, you…”

“ _ Swear it _ !” He would have twisted the slender bones under his fingers, but he lacked the strength – and his voice sounded pathetic already. 

_ I don’t feel anything for McCree, it’s just my mind playing me tricks. I’m imagining things. _

“You have my word, I promise. And I didn’t need your warning, because I can keep a secret”. Now that he was so serious, Zenyatta didn’t look so young anymore. He was stern and determined, and Hanzo let his hand unroll from his arm.

Nausea gripped him and he had to sit back not to fall on his face. He wiped his mouth on his arm and blinked away the constellation of white sparkles in front of his eyes, but he didn’t know what to do with his body, heavy and weak.

“Breathe, my friend”, Zenyatta said calmly. His hands caught Hanzo’s shoulders and held him upright. “Count to three, then breathe out. Come on”.

He wanted to seethe at him, but he was so tired, he needed air so badly…

He took a long, broken lungful and closed his eyes.

“Good. One, two, three – out. Keep your hands on the ground and feel the texture of the mat, ok? And breathe”.

No matter how much he wanted to rebel, his body responded to Zenyatta’s indications on its own. 

_ Inhale _ .

The mat was smooth under his shaking hands, slightly damp with sweat.

_ Exhale _ .

There was a rough patch, the plastic cover worn out. It was reassuring, it made reality safer and not as scary as the memories still ringing in his head.

_ Inhale _ .

Hanzo opened his eyes, and the world in front of him trembled beyond a veil of tears. He let out his breath in a shattered sigh, and before he could stop himself he was weeping. He covered his face with his hands, barely aware of Zenyatta’s movements. 

Tears ran down his cheeks and neck, and crying seemed like the only thing he would ever be able to do. Muffled sobs shook him to the core, the weight now lifted from his chest filled with helpless cry and a sparkle of hope.

He couldn’t bear it.

But after what seemed like an eternity, he ran out of tears. He sniffled, still doubled over and weak as a new-born child, until a distant voice spoke to him.

“Here, take this”. Zenyatta pressed something in his hand – cold and round, moisture making the surface wet. Hanzo drank an unsteady gulp of water and almost choked, but when he was done coughing he took another sip, and after he’d emptied half the plastic bottle he managed to open his eyes. 

Zenyatta was crouched at his side, a box of tissues between them. Hanzo nodded once in silent gratitude, then cleaned blood and tears from his face. In the end, he managed to sit down, calmer than he’d thought possible after such a traumatizing experience. Calmer than he’d ever been.

“Better?”

“Yes, thank you”, he croaked. He carded his fingers through his hair, sweaty and sticking to his forehead, and met Zenyatta’s eyes. “It was…”

“Intense. And let me tell you”, he continued, sitting at ease at his side, “it helped me understand too. You’ve been through so much, Hanzo, and yet you’re here, ready for another take on life. You are a good man”.

This made Hanzo sharply turn to look at him, and Zenyatta chuckled at the clear surprise on his face.

“Don’t look at me like that, I am right, and it’s time you realize it too. Today you took a big step, and I’m proud of you – as will…”

“I… I think I’m ready”, he mumbled, unaware of the words coming from his lips. But once they were spoken, their meaning formed in his brain. He might have taken an important step indeed, but one more was necessary. And if he didn’t do it now, he feared he would have lost his courage. “I must talk to Genji”.

Zenyatta didn’t lose his gentle expression, but he frowned a bit.

“Now? My friend, you are very brave and there’s no need to push you this far. You have time”.

“I’ve wasted more than enough already, and… and I feel this is the right time. I need to talk to my brother”, and he tried to stand up, but Zenyatta stopped him, one hand on his shoulder.

“Are you sure?”

Boundaries. Zenyatta hadn’t lied when he mentioned them, and Hanzo respected him for that.

“I am”.

“Then wait here. I know he’s still awake”. A pat on his shoulder, and Zenyatta stood up; Hanzo absent-mindedly saw how tall he was, and at the same time how lightly built and delicate, and as he sat there, watching him go with one last bow, he understood that the world had changed since they’d entered the gym. Zenyatta was still almost a stranger, and yet he wasn’t anymore.

_ I can see why Genji is in love with him _ , he thought when the door closed.

Now that he had time to think, he didn’t feel like doing it at all. All his being was made of waiting, of words pressing in his mouth and of nerves sizzling with anticipation. He stood up, pacing back and forth with restless energy; it had to be past midnight, but he’d never felt less sleepy.

From the tangle of uncertainties in his brain he couldn’t make out a single good starting point, and the buzzing of his own shapeless thoughts was so loud it almost covered the click from the door.

Hanzo stopped walking and stared at the entrance, where Genji stood, pale and with his hair sticking out in all directions.

They looked at each other for an infinite minute, the air between them crackling with unsaid words and wounded hope. And then Hanzo sunk on his knees, bowing until his forehead was touching the floor. His hands, splayed under his shoulders, trembled as his voice.

“I’m sorry”, he whispered, unable to form any more complex sentence and pouring his very soul in those simple words. He squeezed his eyes shut and pressed his face to the floor. “I’m… I’m sorry…”

He was halfway through a quiet whine when he felt two rough hands grab him from his sleeves and drag him to his feet. Still staggering, he looked at Genji’s face, so close he could count the tears beading in his lashes. 

“Hanzo…” A smile fluttered on his lips, and Hanzo found order in the chaos in his heart. He tried not to sob again, not minding the wet trails down his cheeks. He clutched the front of Genji’s shirt and snarled.

“I’m sorry for betraying you. I’m sorry I was blind and weak and stupid, I’m sorry I wasn’t there when Father died, I’m sorry I lost you, I…”

“No – no no no”, and Genji grabbed his head. “I have forgiven you. Look at me, I have forgiven you, you’re my brother and I won’t let anything ever come between us, no more”. Years of neglected affection burned bright between them, making the scars on Genji’s fair face look even more terrible. Hanzo took his face in his hands and saw his own reflection in his brother’s pupils – eyes on fire, red patches on his skin, the wounds inside him open but clean.

“I’m sorry they hurt you, little brother”, he hissed, tightening his grip until he felt the edges of bones under his palms. “But I swear on my name, on my honor, that I won’t ever let anyone touch you again. And if I can’t forgive myself, I can… I can seek redemption and hunt down those who…”

Genji let out a fierce growl, and for the first time Hanzo saw him for what he was – not a boy anymore, to be protected from the public eye, sheltered from the world, but a warrior. With eyes big and full of sunlight. His grip on Hanzo was fire and steel.

“You’re home, brother. You’re not alone, and you’ll never be”, and he encircled Hanzo in a bone-breaking embrace, sobbing and laughing at the same time.

Hanzo reciprocated, and this time he felt no disgust for the wings flapping under his hands. It was his brother, they were the same blood and there was nothing wrong with them. And if there was a war to be fought, they’d be on the battlefield guarding each other’s side. 

He let tears wash his nightmares away, his own wings stretching his t-shirt, eager to open free.

He kept his face hidden in Genji’s shoulder and he felt, after a lifetime, at home indeed. 

“Thank you”, he whispered, but his brother didn’t hear him. It didn’t matter – they had time to stitch up their torn family, and he was too grateful for his second chance that he didn’t care about dignity. 

Not even when a peculiar jingling sound came from the corridor.

Hanzo looked up over Genji’s shoulder and he saw McCree standing there, his face dark with concern and stubble. His eyes met Hanzo’s, and this time he didn’t avoid his gaze.

This, too, was true, a seed of beauty he hadn’t recognized. 

_ And perhaps I can let myself hope. I too deserve some happiness in this life, despite all I’ve done. _

He smiled, and McCree’s troubles seemed to melt from his face. He tipped his hat, bowed his head and winked, taking a step back and walking away in the shadows.

_ Not now,  _ he thought as he ruffled Genji’s hair _. But some day, maybe. _


	9. Fly

[Fly](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=v6oNE2lT8R4)

 

 

McCree lay on his bed, arms crossed behind his head and the small box on the back of his neck digging into his right wrist.

Another sleepless night – but truth to be told, he hadn’t been sleeping properly even for his low standards since the accident with Hanzo in the slums. The memory of blood soaking his clothes, of how cold and limp Hanzo had been in his arms still haunted him, but this was just a part of the hard truth.

He’d been too close to let go of his constraints and go full berserk on the two kids that had attacked them; the rush of adrenaline, the red veil descending in front of his eyes, the prickling of bones twitching and starting to change… all things he was too familiar with, and this time he’d barely managed to control himself.

He clenched his teeth and stared at the dirty ceiling.

_I resisted 'cause Hanzo needed me. A good thing, but what if next time I'm not strong enough?_

His emotions were still a mess, and what he’d seen last night only made them worse. After hours rolling in bed with no prospect of sleep, he’d tiptoed to the kitchen for some milk, walking in front of the gym.

Only, it hadn’t been as empty as he’d expected. His heart rate increased as his feeling swelled under his ribs at the memory.

He knew what he’d walked on: a turning point. For two years he’d seen Genji struggle with his anger, and then with his forgiveness for Hanzo, and in the last month he’d got more than his share of the latter’s bitterness. And seeing the two brothers embrace was a miracle on its own – only matched by the intense look Hanzo had given him.

McCree swallowed hard and closed his eyes.

Tears and fire, the unrelenting stream of a coursing river, despair and regrets fuelling a steely determination. A fiery _thank you_ that still vibrated inside him and made him almost queasy.

“No… no, not like this”, he muttered as he sat up. Something was terribly off, and where only pride and satisfaction for the good job done with Hanzo should have been, a suffocating confusion deprived him of a grasp on his feelings.

This was bad. Any other time he’d started to run low on serum he’d felt like this, restless, insomniac, and he was determined to keep in control.

He checked the time on the tablet by the bed and realized it was late afternoon.

If he was lucky, Angela would still be in the base, or already back from her patrol. And if he was not, checking in with Jack or whoever he could find around would give him some purpose. Even asking Genji how he was would still be a better option than staring at the void.

Still, as he slid his feet inside his boots, he felt like he was forgetting something.

Or _someone_ , but his mind refused to go in that direction.

Overwatch’s base was quiet – unusually so at such an hour. He’d expected to hear Winston and Lena chatter over the latest settings of their helicarrier, or Jack speaking to one of the other operatives on the other side of the world, but he found no one on his way to the med bay. The gym was silent – and he knew Genji liked to train on his own at this hour – and no one was in the kitchen either.

He was starting to worry when a low chattering reached his ears. He flicked them without realizing it and recognized an excited chorus of comments.

“… so you’re in, aren’t you?”

“Lena, my dear, give him some room, I need to…”

“It’s a good thing you accepted our help, kid. And I’m sorry we had a rough start… old soldiers aren’t known for their smooth manners”.

“… but we’re happy for you! And…”

“Winston, take that tablet there and give it to Lúcio, we have to…”

McCree stopped by Angela’s ambulatory and found the entirety of Overwatch crowding the room. He stood by the door and peeked from behind it – but Zenyatta was right in front of him, and he was too tall to see past him.

“Fine, fine, we all appreciate your support but now I need to work. Off with you all, come on!” Angela’s voice was pragmatic as usual, amused as she shooed everyone off her place.

Winston was the first to stumble beyond the threshold, followed by a laughing Lena and a serious but rather relaxed Jack. Quite the sight, actually.

“Hey, Jesse! We were just wondering where you were!” Lena punched him in the shoulder and walked away with a grin.

“Just need a refill, honey”, and he blinked at her.  
  
“Fine. Once you’re done I need to speak to you, there’s a track I want you to follow”, said Jack. They left, all speaking together, and he took a step forward.

“Can I stay? I’m his relative, they’d let me in at the ER!”

“As if I needed you to hold my hand in case of stitches…”

At Hanzo’s rumbling voice McCree froze. It sounded different, not less stern or defiant, but with an undertone of complicity that spoke volumes about what had happened the night before with Genji. He smiled to himself and enjoyed a second of warmth. At least this was an improvement, and he couldn’t but feel a little proud of himself.

“I think Jesse needs your assistance, Angela”. Zenyatta spoke a bit louder than his usual quiet tones, and McCree sharply turned to the door.

Well, he was not wrong, after all, and hiding was not in his plans. He pushed the door with his best grin, and his humor lifted even further when he took in the general mood.

Lúcio was rummaging in a cabinet, while Angela stood in the middle of the room with some papers in hand; Genji and Zenyatta greeted him with knowing nods of their heads – and Genji’s smile was brighter than the sun, it melted something inside him – and right in front of them Hanzo was sitting on the bed by the wall.

Their eyes locked, and the flame McCree had seen in the gym was still there. It was all for him, and his brash mask faltered a little.

“I’ll be taking care of you in a moment, Jesse. It’s the serum, right?” asked Angela without taking her eyes off the documents.

“Er… yeah. Hi folks, I… I can come back later if… if…”

“I think you can stay”, and McCree was surprised to hear the words come from Zenyatta. His dark face was as serene as ever, but there was a spark in his eyes McCree couldn’t identify.

“Fine, just a second”. Angela placed the papers by Hanzo and gestured Lúcio to move to the side as she took something from the shelf.

“Wait, but that’s not the…”

“Lúcio, can you please pass me a 10 cc syringe?” Angela interrupted him, but McCree was not really into their medical routine. He couldn’t take his eyes off Hanzo, who acknowledged his presence with a slow nod. Maybe it was just McCree imagining things, but there was the shadow of a smile hidden in his beard.

“Here, turn around”. McCree blinked fast and quickly looked at Angela’s rather red face, but her eyes were so commanding he did as he was told. When the needle pierced the slot in his serum pump, he felt his tension slowly melt away – he was going to be ok for some time, so one less thing to worry about. Angela patted his shoulder and threw the empty syringe into a yellow bin. “There you go, dear. Now, back to our Hanzo. As I was saying, I analyzed your blood samples, and they’re amazing”.

“Tone it down, Angie, or he’ll be insufferable”. Genji dodged the crumpled paper towel Hanzo threw at him and laughed.

“No playing in my lab, you two! McCree, if you want to stay move from the door, it unnerves me”. Her ears were still pink when she tapped her datapad, and McCree shifted to the wall, a mere three feet from Hanzo.

_Damn. He smells good._

“You’re a mutant, and we already knew this. But your regenerating factor is rather intriguing – can you please take your shirt off and spread your wings?” said Angela matter-of-factly, waving her hand.

“W-What?” Hanzo stuttered, and his neck flushed pink.

Angela shot him a level look and shrugged.

“I need to check something, so you either cut holes in your clothes like Genji or you strip”.

“But… I…”

“Hanzo, I don’t have all day. Come on”.

“Don’t press him, Angie, my brother’s shy”, chuckled Genji, and Hanzo narrowed his eyes at him.

“Just because not everyone is a show-off like you it doesn’t mean that… mph…”

Hanzo grunted and clenched his teeth, hooping his fingers under the hem of his shirt and rolling it up his torso.

McCree knew better than to stare, but there’s so much a man can endure. The white fabric caught in Hanzo’s wings, and McCree was left with the sight of a sculpted body squirming to get free.

_Oh shit._

Hanzo sported the most perfect physical structure McCree had ever seen, his pale skin morphing to bright blue scales on his left pec and down his thick arm. Taut abs rippled when Hanzo stretched his shoulders and let the t-shirt fall to his side with a whip of his long hair.

The painful whirlwind of confusion twisted again in McCree’s head, his blood ran faster in his veins, and hadn’t it been for the recent refill of his pump he’d have feared an untimely transformation. Hanzo followed some order from Angela McCree couldn’t even hear and stood up – the diagonal muscles on his sides forming a line that disappeared in his pants, those impressive blue wings moving slightly as he balanced himself on his feet.

God, McCree couldn’t take his eyes off him. His mouth felt dry, his skin too hot, and he knew his face gave everything away. An unexpected and overwhelming attraction, the confirmation of what he’d guessed on their past days together.

_I had this wonder spread on my back and I refused to call my feelings their name. Fuck, he’s gorgeous._

Dark, fiery eyes found his own, and Hanzo sneered.

“Enjoying the show?” he hissed.

“Hell yeah”, said McCree, and too late he realized how inappropriate his comment was being. His ears burned, but he closed his mouth and cleared his throat. “Your… your wings. They’re – er – pretty impressive”.

A soft snort came from the other side of the room, and McCree cocked an eyebrow, sure it was Genji. But under his green hair, his eyes were perplexed as they checked on Zenyatta, who was clearly doing his best to keep a straight face.

McCree was about to ask something, more out of his need to break the awkward silence than for anything else, but with Hanzo still looking at him with a silent challenge on his face he could only exhale a soft sigh.

The blush crept up Hanzo’s face – and McCree suspected his own face was in no better conditions – and McCree felt his hands prickle with the desire of running his fingertips on the blue sparkles of those scales.

Angela walked behind Hanzo, and after a moment she peeked from behind his shoulders.

“Did you feel that?” she asked curtly. McCree cleared his throat and forced himself to look away. Unfortunately, his eyes met Genji’s, whose eyebrows shot up his forehead while a mischievous grin spread on his lips.

“Feel what?” Hanzo shook his head and approximately recollected himself.

McCree didn’t know where to look. Genji narrowed his eyes and wiggled his eyebrows in a suggestive way, Zenyatta accurately looked at his own feet to hide a grin, Lúcio and Angela were at Hanzo’s side – and Hanzo was a temptation. He gulped hard and cursed the trickle of sweat running down his spine.

“I pricked the tip of your wing”, explained Angela, holding a syringe needle in front of her. “No sensation at all?”

Hanzo shrugged, and Angela put her hand on his shoulder.

“And now?” The needle sunk in the upper part of Hanzo’s right wing, and he winced a bit.

“Yes, that stung. But why?”

“You can regenerate at an amazing speed. Or, to be more precise, your bones, blood, muscles, and skin can regenerate. Your nerves not so much”. She threw the needle away and gave Hanzo a satisfied smile. “By clipping your wings for years, you lost sensibility on the part you cut, and luckily it’s just some five inches of tissue”.

McCree felt his face, still uncomfortably warm, go pale, and he couldn’t hold back.

“So he’s not – you know – immortal? A… a gunshot in the wrong place would…”

“McCree, not again, please”, moaned Hanzo, rolling his eyes. Angela ignored the furious glare on McCree’s side.

“Try not to break your back or head, if you damage your neural tissue there’s not much your mutation can do to…”

“You could have _died_! You brushed it away as if it was nothing but… but you could have fuckin’ died!” McCree didn’t realize he was screaming until his own voice rang in his ears. Everyone was staring at him, and shame made it all worse, but he couldn’t shut up. “Fuck, Hanzo, I was not worth the risk!”

“I did what I had to and I’m fine”, he replied in a deadly cold voice. His cheeks were still very red. “I don’t need a babysitter, and don’t ever say it again!”

“Guys…” Lúcio’s shy attempt at calming them down was drowned by McCree’s shocked rage.

“I… I already told ya, you risked too much for someone like…”

“ _Don’t ever say you’re not worth it!”_

Hanzo’s wrath echoed in the sudden quiet of the lab. No one dared to speak – not Genji and Zenyatta, too astonished even to blink; not Lúcio, with his hand still hovering on Hanzo’s arm, and not Angela, who pressed her fingers to her mouth.

And definitely not McCree, frozen by a wild instinct that roared him to grab Hanzo’s shoulders, shake him and hold him.

Hanzo panted and clenched his fists so hard his knuckles protruded white under his skin; he turned his face away and his hair covered his eyes, but not before McCree could notice the sparkle shining in their depths.

Angela coughed in her fist, and the spell broke.

“If you two are done yelling at each other can we please proceed? Otherwise I’ll have to ask you to leave, Jesse”.

“No”, he replied immediately. Maybe with too much emphasis. “I’m… sorry. Got carried away, ok? I’ll be quiet, cross my heart”.

But his mind was far from pliant, and he kind of wanted to leave indeed. Oddly, though, his feet felt glued to the floor.

“Now, if we can proceed… Genji, come here and open your wings”.

Genji was all too eager to oblige and he stepped in the center of the room. Carefully avoiding to look at his brother, he gave McCree a subtle grin before rolling his shoulders and spreading his wings to their full extent.

It was not the first time McCree had seen him like that, and he genuinely thought he looked majestic, a human and dragon hybrid with emerald scales. Seeing him in action was even more impressive, and here, in the closed space of the ambulatory, his wings seemed longer and slenderer than ever.

“Good. Hanzo, back to back with your brother and do the same”. All concern was gone from Angela’s attitude, now more curious and excited than before. Hanzo kept his head low and straightened his back – and McCree did his best not to stare at the graceful curve of his waist.

His hair was still loose around his face, a shiny black curtain that couldn’t fully hide the grimace when he moved bones and muscles for the first time, after decades of denial. Hanzo gritted his teeth and his arms tensed, and with a muffled groan he opened his wings.

The gesture held a world of significance. Acceptance and forgiveness, Hanzo’s whole story and loneliness, a second chance McCree had insisted in offering him even if his first reaction had been of distrust. He felt ashamed of himself for those early outbursts and took mental note to apologize as soon as possible. But right now, he was mesmerized by the birth of a new person, as Hanzo trembled like a butterfly fresh out of the cocoon.

Genji was emerald and gold, while Hanzo was sapphire and the depths of the ocean, the last blue of the sky before nightfall. His wings were shorter than his brother’s, but seemed stronger, with the pale, translucent membrane anchored to his back down to his waist.

“Mate, you okay?” asked Lúcio, patting Hanzo on the shoulder in sincere concern.

“Yes. They… it is weird, they feel stiff”.

“Sure they are, you haven’t been moving them for a month”. He blinked his big yellow eyes and his smile widened. “Just like taking a cast off after weeks”.

“You should exercise them”, said Zenyatta calmly. “Genji greatly benefits from it, his wings are way more functional now”. Genji sighed and gave him such a sweet look McCree burned with envy. And he wasn’t an envious person at all, usually.

“See, Lúcio? I think we were correct. Look at the anatomy – it’s basically the same, and I’m sure X-rays would confirm that these two are not tetrapods”.

“So wings and arms are analogous structures, evolution-wise?” Lúcio took Hanzo’s wing and held it against Genji’s. “They’re pretty different, tho”.

“Y’all got four arms? Cool”, said McCree, feeling silly, and then wanting to disappear into the floor when Hanzo glanced at him with scorn. And maybe – but just maybe – a hint of amusement.

“Of course we can’t tell for sure until Hanzo starts to use his wings, but I’m positive we are looking at the equivalent of a frigate bird”, and Angela pointed at Genji, “and a peregrine falcon”, and she nodded at Hanzo.

“If you mean I’m a cooler bird, I’m in”, said Genji, and his brother poked him in the back with his elbow.

“But I can’t use them… can I?” asked Hanzo, folding his wings and grasped for his shirt. McCree absent-mindedly handed it to him, and his casual gesture gained him a quick smirk. His heart leaped in his chest.

“We will work on this too, but one thing at a time. Now you…”

The door opened to reveal a rather pissed Jack Morrison holding a tablet. His blue gaze went to McCree, and probably the smirk playing at the corner of his mouth was just McCree’s imagination.

“I thought you were MIA. We’re waiting for you, kid, come on”.

McCree emerged from his Hanzo-centred trance and sweated some more.

“Are you… blushing?”

“Nah, Jack, it’s just very hot in here”, and he grinned from ear to ear, hoping his mask would convince the others. “I was…”

“Let’s go, I need you out by 7 PM, we have some interesting information this time”. Jack held the door open and tilted his head to invite McCree to follow him.

It made sense – Overwatch still had his goal, right? And McCree was back. They needed him. Then why was it so hard to walk away?

“Alright”, he heard himself say, but he was not looking at Jack.

Hanzo. Hanzo again, his sharp cheekbones still flushed and his eyes fixed on McCree.

Angela saved him from his embarrassment with a friendly shove.

“Go, now, you’re fuelled up on serum and you’ll do fine”.

“Yeah, I… Yeah. See y’all”, and turning his back to the room cost him all his determination.

Overall, as he walked in Jack’s trail down the corridors, he thought that a distraction could prove useful right now.

But erasing the sparkles of blue scales on pale skin from his mind was no easy task.

 

 

˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜

 

 

Hanzo, standing in the gym so early in the morning it still counted as night, hated everything: the t-shirt Genji gave him left his back half uncovered, and no matter how much more comfortable his wings were, it made him feel exposed. The way his limbs didn’t work like the perfectly oiled machine they used to be unsettled him: he was sweaty and panting, and to his utter shame he’d fallen three times while kicking the box sack hanging from the ceiling. The shooting range was a more relaxing environment, and his good aim was unbothered by his mutation, but he couldn’t practice with a rifle all day.

He ran his hands over his face and snorted. He knew he could do better than this pathetic parody of a training, but while he felt his arms retained their skills, his legs were a whole different matter. He fell sitting on the floor and his left wing got caught under his ass, sending a line of pain up to his shoulder.

Hanzo hissed through his teeth and cursed under his breath as he struggled to get that ridiculous new part of his body in a decent position. He hated this too – he was clumsy, his back ached now that his wings were not neatly folded under his clothes, and the long years of training in martial arts seemed to belong to a different life.

He took his head in his hands and breathed slowly from his nose. Having made his peace with Genji and starting to accept his true nature was good, but it didn’t erase the brutal truth.

_I’m a freak._

He could pinpoint the moment his attraction to McCree had become a thing to worry about. Even before Zenyatta had helped him clear his mind, he’d known – from the moment McCree had appeared in his room, with a smile dancing on his lips and eyes that held a spark of stubborn hope, and then even more so during their night out. Stepping in front of him to save his life was an unexpected gesture, and yet a heartfelt one, moved not by his wits but by the hidden force burning deep inside his heart.

And now he knew that it was not something he should indulge in. McCree’s reaction to Angela’s examination spoke volumes of the shock Hanzo’s physical appearance had been to him, there were no other explanations for his dumbstruck look or his embarrassment.

Hanzo hunched forward and perched his elbows on his bent knees, trying to set his breathing to a more normal rhythm. But even after the fatigue had faded, his heart still raced.

_One-way interest is pointless, and I have more pressing matters to focus on._

A good intention, but his brain didn’t seem inclined to follow its own advice. Every time he blinked, Hanzo saw unwanted and desperately desired details – the thick column of McCree’s neck, the soft dimple at its base right over the first shadow of his chest hair, his large palms and long fingers, and even worse the memory of the heat radiating from McCree’s body when he’d held on to him on his bike.

Muttering curses under his breath, Hanzo jumped on his feet, and before he could let himself be carried away by those thoughts he punched the boxing sack. A good one, his knuckles sinking in the worn-out leather, and the second was equally decent, but not as fast as it used to be. The weight of his wings held his shoulders back, and putting all his strength in those movements called for a balance he still lacked.

Still, he persisted, unleashing his frustration on the dangling sack until his hands and throat burned. It didn’t help take McCree out of his mind, or ease the throbbing disappointment that shamed him, but he couldn’t stop until he was breathless and he fell forward, pressing his damp face to the leather.

“My my, off to a bad start this morning, my dear brother?”

Hanzo abruptly turned around, overly conscious of his reddened face and heaving chest, to find Genji standing on the door.

Time coiled like one of the dragons on that painting in their father’s office, rewinding to that moment of over two years ago. Overwatch’s gym was nothing like their old one, and the young man smiling at him was even more different. There were scars on his body and soul where the wounds Hanzo had inflicted him had healed, but the weight of secrets between them was nowhere as heavy as it used to be.

Hanzo choked on a wave of anxiety as those memories unwound inside him and forced himself to straighten his back and ran his hand over his forehead.

“Why are you saying this?” he asked, glad his voice sounded stern and steady. Not enough to fool his brother, who left his shoes by the mat Hanzo was standing on and punched his shoulder.

“I know you, Hanzo. Whenever you’re that angry while training it means something’s heavy on your mind”.

Hanzo took his wrist and twisted it a bit; no matter how bad he was feeling, this new complicity made everything more bearable, to the point that he managed a grin.

“You’re spending too much time with Zenyatta”.

Genji looked at the fingers wrapped around his arm and arched an eyebrow, then, with a surprisingly fast flick of his wrist, wrestled himself free. Hanzo grinned, provoked in a not entirely unpleasant way.

“And you’re spending too little time in the dojo. You’re getting old, big brother…”

“Oh really? Think you can best me?” And the old habit, covered in years of mistakes and guilt, made him bow respectfully. Genji’s smirk grew wider and he mirrored the gesture, flexing his knees in a guard position.

“I think I could, yeah, but don’t feel too bad about it”. He flapped his wings once and set them at a curious angle, and next thing Hanzo knew was that his reflexes moved before his brain. His arm shot in front of his face and blocked Genji’s fist, bones knocking against bones.

“… because, unlike you”, and Genji attacked him again. He twirled on his heel and his round kick missed Hanzo’s jaw of an inch, “I never stopped training”.

Still unbalanced backward, Hanzo dodged another hit, sliding to his left and silencing the awe at his brother’s skills. In all their years together, Genji had never posed a threat to him – and now Hanzo hadn’t scored a single point yet. He recollected himself and planted his weight low on his feet, shooting forward for a high side kick aimed at his brother’s chest.

He was fast – he knew he was fast and precise and experienced – and confident in his abilities, but when his foot left the mat something felt off. He delivered his strike, but he soon found himself unbalanced, and Genji barely swatted his ankle away.

“Nice try, but nope, sorry”, he chuckled. Hanzo stumbled to his feet and felt anger bubble in the pit of his stomach. Genji was on him once more, and if having his younger brother show unprecedented skills wasn’t enough, realizing he wasn’t even trying his best made Hanzo furious. He ducked and parried and backed off, and it all looked too much like he was avoiding the fight.

He couldn’t stand it.

His wings stood in his way, useless cumbersome flesh sails that slowed him down. Years of training and discipline made room for sheer stubbornness; ignoring the uncoordinated flapping on his back Hanzo put all his willpower in his left arm, covering his face with the right one and letting the tension run up from his calves to his waist, shoulders and down to his clenched fist.

It was a good punch, or more precisely, such it would have been for a good intentioned beginner, something Hanzo was not. Midway through his run, Hanzo’s body rebelled and he leaned forward too much; Genji only twisted his torso to the side, that unnerving smile still in place (and not a single drop of sweat on his forehead). Hanzo had no time to recover from his movement: Genji caught his wrist in his hand and slid forward, his free fingers grabbing the front of Hanzo’s t-shirt.

Gravity lost its direction for a split second as Genji bent forward and hauled his brother over his shoulders, and Hanzo let out a muffled yelp that ended in a breathless grunt when he fell flat on his back with a bounce.

With his limbs – all of them, wings included – splayed ungracefully on the mat, he took a wheezing breath that made his ribs throb, eyes staring at the ceiling in utter disbelief.

The metal beams disappeared when Genji crouched at his side and leaned on top of him.

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but I won this one”, and he stuck his tongue out. Hanzo slapped his hand open on his face and pushed him back; as his brother bounced on the mat, he rolled on his side and dragged himself on his knees. His face burned, his back ached, and for the first time he realized his wings hurt where he’d landed badly. Who knew you could sprain a wing? He slid his hand behind his shoulder and rolled it slowly, and after a moment the unease subsided. Nothing serious, but his shame didn’t relent a bit.

“Come on, brother, don’t sulk!” Genji crossed his legs and opened his arms. “You’re doing great for someone who’s just started to make peace with his own body”.

“I’m not supposed to lose a fight”, he grumbled, avoiding Genji’s carefree face.

“Hey, don’t say that”, and his brother’s voice sounded more serious. His hand went to Hanzo’s forearm and gave a gentle squeeze. “It’s ok to allow yourself room for improvement. You don’t need to impress me, you can relax”.

It was a side of the truth he’d never stopped to consider. His years as the Shimada heir had required him to always be at his best and to refuse the very idea of defeat, and even now it was something he wasn’t ready to accept.

“It’s those stupid things”, he mumbled, spreading his wings just a bit. “They’re useless and always stand in the way, they make me…”

“Useless?” Genji burst out laughing and slapped his thigh. “Were you even listening to Angela yesterday?”

“I don’t like them”.

“You’ll change your mind”. He stood up and stretched, holding his hand out to Hanzo. “Wanna see?”

No, he didn’t want to _see_. Everything was happening too fast for his tastes, and he didn’t think he was ok with giving his mutation the chance to be anything but a nuisance – it was still better than considering it a curse, but he wasn’t going to give his wings more than this. But whatever could keep his mind off the undesired longing for a man who wasn’t interested in him was welcome, so he let Genji pull him up and nodded.

“Surprise me”, he said, tying his hair back in a loose ponytail. Genji beamed and threw his arm around his shoulders as he led him out of the gym.

They walked down many, mostly empty corridors, passing in front of a meeting Jack and Winston were having with a grey-haired woman, speaking with them from a blue screen floating mid-air.

“… and if your contacts can tell us something about where the Government’s hiding his labs it would help us, Ana”.

“ _Jack, I will investigate further, but have you asked the European base? I’m sure Reinhard could…”_

“Come on”, Genji urged him forward, more serious than before.

“Who are those people?” Hanzo kept his voice low as they left the meeting room behind them. Genji turned right and then left, following a path Hanzo didn’t know.

“Overwatch has many operating units scattered all over the world. We have Ana Amari and her crew in Northern Africa and Reinhardt – he’s a great guy, I met him once – in Europe, then there’s the Siberian base with Zarya and Mei, and in India Satya is infiltrating Vishkar. We all do our best to keep mutants out of trouble, but as you’ve seen they have little useful info for us right now”.

“Still working on the Registration Act, right?”

“Always”, Genji replied immediately, showing his brother the way through a metal door. “I can’t accept that a single person will suffer what I had to – and before you can say anything to bring you down, now you’re fighting at my side, so don’t worry about your honor”.

Hanzo blinked and swallowed back his usual self-loathing. They were leaving the area of the base he’d explored and venturing out to a part all new to him, even if the dismal corridors didn’t look much different from those McCree had shown him before they left for the slums.

“… and since you’re in Overwatch now, you need a codename”.

“What?” Hanzo stopped in the middle of the floor and stared at Genji.

His brother, a couple of steps ahead of him, turned to give him one of his wide grins.

“A codename. I mean, Tony Stark is a cool guy, but Iron Man is a hero. Names are important”.

“You… you have one?”

“Of course I do! We all have, well, not just everyone, but I do! I wanted something like Death Megatron 5000. It sounds pretty intimidating, right?”

“Tell me you went for something classier”, Hanzo said, glad to bring his thoughts to a safer path. Genji laughed and slapped his shoulder, pushing him forward.

“Jesse liked it, but when Winston gives you _that look_ over his glasses it makes you question your choices. I go under Sparrow, now. It’s simpler, and it’s… well, it’s _me_ ”, he concluded simply. The air around them smelled different, and soon the golden light of the sun appeared at the end of the crude tunnel they were crossing.

“You’ve always been Sparrow, and… I think I’m happy you still are”, he confessed. All the horrible things Genji had been through had changed him, but not broken his spirit; Hanzo hated to admit it, but this made the weight on his soul a little less unbearable.

“Think about it, you could be something cool like Iron Hawk. Or…”

“No”. Hanzo interrupted him with more strength than he’d intended; he shook his hand and stared at his brother as he pressed his palm on yet another hidden pad in the rocky wall. “I… let me be Hanzo. Just Hanzo, ok?”

Such an important truth in a simple phrase. He’d been a Shimada for almost thirty years, his name spoken with cold respect, his true identity hidden. Now he got to be himself, and he didn’t want any more masks.

Genji frowned, but Hanzo could see his brain process the concept until a gentle smile widened on his lips. A beep, a flash of green light, and he gestured Hanzo to follow him.

“Whatever floats your boat. But be prepared to defend your choice with the others; I think the only one who uses his real name is Winston, but let’s admit it, there’s no way he could fool anyone with all that blue fur”.

They walked out of the mountain and under a pink sky blushing red into the East. Hanzo squirmed at the bright light and covered his eyes with his hand, until he could make out the outline of a landscape he didn’t recognize. Patches of weeds sparkled green on the barren soil, and tall creepers made their way up the remains of broken concrete columns; iron rods protruded from cracked walls, and Hanzo took a tentative step forward. Now that he could check the bottom of the slope, he noticed a rather familiar rift in the hill; wasn’t it where McCree kept his bike?

“This is the only part left of the original building. It’s so high on the hills and the path is so steep no one even bothers coming up here”. Genji walked to the edge of the half-collapsed deck, his head turned to look at his brother. “Add up all of Winston’s technological trinkets and we’re safe as a…”

Hanzo saw it happen in slow motion. Genji’s feet getting caught in a hooped root, an incoherent whirling of his hands, and then the unrelenting pull of gravity – before Hanzo could catch his breath his brother fell off the ridge.

“No!” His cry rumbled in his ears as he sprinted forward, eyes wide and shock already inflating in his head. Beyond the grasp of his wits, pictures of Genji’s body, broken on the sharp rocks down the cliffs, invaded his whole being, shattered bones and spilled blood and pain, so much pain…

He stumbled to the edge and fell to his knees, scraping them on the gravel, and panting with horror he leaned forward. Among the howling of his heart and his own ragged breath a soft moan escaped from his lips, but he had no time to check the rocks beneath him. His moan morphed into a strangled yell when a huge black shadow darted from the canyon and shoot upwards to the sky; Hanzo fell on his ass and backed away, scratching his palms too on the coarse ground and screaming some more.

Genji flapped his wings and landed lightly on Hanzo’s left, sinking to his knees and holding his side with breathless laughter.

“Your… your face! You should have seen your face!” he cackled, doubling forward and hitting his fist on the ground.

Hanzo trembled with shock, and when his panic subsided enough to let him quiet down, he stared at Genji with his mouth open.

“What did you expect? I told you our wings are far from useless!”

“You little… you…” He slowly got to his feet, cursing his still wobbly knees. He pointed his finger to Genji as his voice came out in a squeal. “You’re an asshole! Why did you have to scare me like that?”

Genji wiped a tear from his eye and stood up, shaking his head in utter hilarity.

“Oh, brother, you haven’t changed – I’m more than fine, see? And since I know you, it was clear you needed a practical demonstration”.

“But why didn’t you just warn me beforehand?” Hanzo ran his hand down his face; fear was quickly giving way to anger, but for now relief was strong enough not to make him slap his brother.

“Because it was funnier like this”. Genji folded his wings on his back and shrugged. “How do you think I learned I could fly?”

“Training and exercise, I want to hope”. He kicked a pebble down the cliff and sunk his hands into his pockets. At least he could hide their shaking from Genji’s eyes.

“No. Look at these girls”, and once more he spread his wings. “They’re too long to take off from the ground, so I had to fall – er, to _jump_ from a building to find out they were perfectly functional. I was sure I was going to crash on the street, but my muscles didn’t require my consent to start working”.

Hanzo pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and index finger and took a deep breath.

“You’re still an asshole”, he grunted.

“It’s just the beginning”, he said, stepping in front of Hanzo and placing his hands on his shoulders. “It’s pretty easy, anyway: the trick is just to miss the ground when you’re falling”.

And he pushed Hanzo off the edge. Without a single warning, without letting go of his bright smile, Genji shoved Hanzo from the hill and into thin air.

It took Hanzo a fraction of a second, filled with the dreadful sensation of not having solid ground beneath his feet and being suspended into nothing, to understand his huge, impending and unavoidable problem. He screamed and whirled his arms and legs around, eyes wide and lungs empty, as the bottom of the canyon approached at an alarming speed.

“Come on, fly!” Genji spurred him, gliding at his side. In any other moment Hanzo could’ve yelled at him, but right now he was too busy with panic to realize anything. Let alone how his own wings were spreading on their own, slowing down his fall.

As if Hanzo was in the right mood to appreciate the change of speed. He was undoubtedly about to die in a very splatter way, and his brain had better things to do than to pay attention to the clumsy movements behind his back.

“Hanzo! You’ve got wings, use them!” There was urgency in Genji’s voice, and more than a trace of concern – not that Hanzo minded him. When things seemed bad enough already, a further complication appeared in the form of McCree cautiously walking out of his hideout.

“No no no – _move_!” From out of his reasonable panic, Hanzo managed to draw a growling alarm, and McCree turned to him with his hand on his hip. For the time of a thought, Hanzo saw his face with absolute clarity, dark skin going pale, eyes big and mouth opening slowly to let go of his cigarette.

Something was still happening around his shoulders, an uncoordinated flapping that didn’t stop his trajectory but made it more erratic.

Hanzo’s head rang with his own screaming, and the last thing he saw before accepting his fate of two-dimensionality on the ground was McCree baring his teeth and holding out his hands. By now, Hanzo was beyond dignity: he just closed his eyes and waited for the inescapable outcome.

The few following seconds were a mess. First came the impact, hard enough to crush his ribs and deprive him of all air, and then the very concepts of up and down mixed, as he rolled around. In a cloud of dust, he felt the skin on his knees and elbows break again, and the delicate bones of his wings threatened to shatter.

But eventually the world stopped spinning. He was still, and very much alive. And when the dust settled and he managed to inhale a shaking mouthful of air, he became aware of what surrounded him – namely, a pair of strong arms wrapped around his waist and a stream of hissed curses under his body. Hanzo blinked and found his nose less than an inch from McCree’s.

“Hey there”, the panting, half chuckling remark warmed the air between them. “I got you, darlin’”.

Hanzo should have said something, or even better jumped to his feet and out of McCree’s embrace – an embrace that didn’t seem inclined to end even now that the emergency was over – but he couldn’t move. With his heart still thumping wildly against his chest he stared deep into McCree’s eyes, and suddenly the adrenaline rush from his fall seemed a little thing compared to the turmoil in his soul.

“You… you did”, he replied in a whisper.

McCree’s smile intensified, a warm, intimate look that made his face look sweeter. He lifted a hand between them and tucked a loose strand of hair behind Hanzo’s ear.

“You alright, pretty one?”

All his being screamed to lean into that caress and to bask in the compliment McCree had paid him, but Hanzo was determined not to be weak anymore. And he had a brother to scold, first.

“I am”, he said curtly with more strength than he felt. He tried to slide from McCree, but his legs were shaking so much they didn’t hold him; when he fell back he found himself straddling McCree’s hips, an embarrassing situation that the other didn’t miss.

“Well, let me take you out for dinner first”, he muttered, his crooked smile oddly sincere. Hanzo felt his face catch fire and he slid away before his lower part could react to such an interesting form of contact.

_Don’t make too much out of this; remember how he looked at you just yesterday._

While he stumbled to get to his feet, though, a second voice whispered in his head.

_… but remember also that you might be wrong._

Genji saved him from his awkwardness landing at his side and hurrying to take his arms and steady him.

“You did it, brother! It was not the most graceful flight I’ve ever seen, but you…”

“Genji, tell me again: why am I not trying to kill you?” He wanted to shove his brother away, but at the same time he felt he had no right to do so – was this part of his penance too?

“Because we are family and you missed me, confess it!”

McCree stood up and patted his ass and thighs to remove the dust. He seemed unharmed, even if his rescue had knocked his hat off and now his hair was a dark mess around his face. Unbothered, he smiled and clapped Hanzo on the back.

“Don’t be too hard on our lil’ Sparrow, sugar. What matters is that yer fine, and look at your improvements! I’m impressed!”

The big, warm hand slid down to the small of his back and stopped there, and Hanzo didn’t even try to step away. He was weak in the knees from the fall, but now a different kind of dizziness was adding up to the mixture.

“Yeah, you were amazing, Hanzo! You made your little brother proud, and I want you to know that you were never in danger, I could have caught you anytime”. Genji ruffled Hanzo’s hair, eliciting an annoyed grunt from his throat, and threw his arm around his shoulders. “Come on, let’s go back. Jesse, are you joining us for breakfast?”

“Sure thing, dude. I had a busy night escorting Angela in her errands, and catching our lovely Hanzo mid-flight made me hungry”. His hand was still on Hanzo’s waist, and he gently pushed him to follow him.

“Would you stop it, you two? I’m still very angry”, grumbled Hanzo, crossing his arms over his chest. He knew he had to be, and the flame of outrage roared high behind the shroud of trauma and relief, but as they walked to the hidden path to the base he realized there was more.

McCree held him close in a completely different way than Genji, and no matter how impossible this hypothetical attraction was – he only wanted to savor the moment.

He gingerly flexed a wing and let it lean on McCree’s shoulder, a light touch that could easily come out as casual. Still, when McCree turned to look at him, amber eyes resting in his own a moment too long, Hanzo knew he didn’t fool him.

Genji was still chattering, but all Hanzo could think of was the hand on his back, the thumb drawing light circles on his skin.

He gulped a lump of emotions and let the others lead him on.

He was still falling. And falling hard.


	10. Castle of glass

 

[Castle of glass](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ScNNfyq3d_w)

  
  


Two more months rolled by, and Hanzo started to really feel at home. He never left the base, aware of his own limits and of the training he needed to undergo, and at first, he had been ok with that. 

There were so many things to catch up with – his relationship with Genji, mostly, and Hanzo cherished every moment they got to share. It was nothing like the old times: it was a thousand times better. Whether it was a bone-breaking session in the dojo – and after the first weeks the difference in their skill level disappeared – or a quiet night drinking tea in the kitchen, he slowly began to accept that his brother was back for good. Genji was very open about his feelings, and where Zenyatta’s intervention had laid the foundations of their renewed familiarity, now it was their turn to fill in the gaps. Something Hanzo was more than happy to do, until the sting of his own guilt started to fade to a subtle mist in the back of his brain. 

And then there were the other Overwatch members. No matter how rough his first approach had been, one way or another they all seem determined to show him their affection. Some – like Tracer or Lúcio – more than others. Jack Morrison still looked at him with an unreadable light in his blue eyes, and Hanzo was not one to let others intimidate him; if the man didn’t want to trust him, he didn't really care.

All this he could very well live with. McCree was a whole different matter.

Day after day, week after week, Hanzo felt the weight of his feelings for the other man burden his heart. The fact that McCree was a kind, friendly and affectionate fellow didn’t help: how could he explain to him that every time they touched, Hanzo’s heart leaped in his chest? Or that those deep, sidelong looks from the other side of the table, when no one was paying them much attention, made Hanzo’s skin burn with embarrassment and need? McCree seemed completely oblivious to his confusion, and in time he developed the unhealthy habit of seeking Hanzo for the most trivial things. A drink on the outskirts of the base? Hanzo was invited. Alone. A late-night movie on the worn-out couch? No way Hanzo could elude his request. 

And all those small moments were full of apparently meaningless little touches and bright smiles that made Hanzo’s doubts a thousand times more entangled. While Overwatch seemed to be lagging in its quest against the Registration Act, an unnerving uncertainty made him restless.

He liked McCree, and not even under the threat of torture he would admit it with anyone. Zenyatta knew, and this was enough already – but he slowly started to think that maybe, just  _ maybe _ the attraction was not one-way.

It was more than he could handle, and he desperately needed something to fill his days, or his own brain was going to kill him.

This was why he was in one of the dismal meeting rooms, sitting at a table opposite to Jack and Winston.

“No”. Morrison’s voice was low and stern, his angular face set to a stubborn, plain expression. “Not yet”.

Hanzo clenched his fists on his knees and bit his tongue to prevent a snarky reply from escaping his lips. The whole situation was nonsense, he was not a kid who would stand the scrutiny of his elders, hoping to impress them.

“May I ask why?” he said, ignoring the creaking of his knuckles and the trembling of his hands. 

“Because you’re not ready yet. I reckon you’re making great progress, but…”

“I don’t know, Jack…” Winston took his glasses off and wiped them on the fur on his chest. “I think the boy deserves a chance”.

_ Don’t you ever dare call me a boy again. _ He let the thought sizzle in his brain, unspoken, but couldn’t control the grimace on his face.

Jack perched himself on his elbows and leaned forward, shaking his head.

“I want you to know that it’s not a matter of trust. We _do_ trust you, Hanzo, and Genji is vouching for you, but…”

“Say no more”, he interrupted him with a gesture of his hand. All his labored patience was wearing thin. “It sounds so much like  _ it is _ a matter of trust, and I can accept it. What I won’t accept, though, are kind words and lies”.

“Watch your mouth, Shimada”, Jack snarled, his hand landing hard on the table. 

“Do you doubt my motives? Ask Genji – or Zenyatta, or McCree”, and his voice trembled at the mention. He bore Jack’s stare unflinching, his head high and his jaws clenched. “I had many chances to leave, and yet I’m still here. I  _ want  _ to be here!”

“If I thought you were a danger to Overwatch do you really think you’d still be around? Or  _ alive _ ?”

“Jack, please”, Winston’s tone was exhausted, and he put his huge, hairy hand on Jack’s shoulder. “Don’t turn this into a fight, we’re not at war”.

“We are”, he growled, eyes still fixed on Hanzo’s. But he was not inclined to letting the old soldier bring him down: the argument was far from over.

“What is it, then? My skills? Meet me in the dojo and I’ll show you what I can do”. And in that very moment, he asked nothing better than to prove Morrison what he could do. Maybe with a couple of extra kicks just for good measure.

“Hanzo, you are right in your request”. Winston put his glasses back on his nose and looked at him with forced calm. “I appreciate –  _ we  _ appreciate your will to help, and let me tell you, I’m very aware of the importance of your contribution. You have contacts, you have abilities not inferior to those of any other member of this organization… but you appeared at a weird time”.

“Please. I know the story, and Overwatch has been little more than idle for the last year or so. Since Reyes left you…”

“Trust me, kid, you don’t want to take this conversation that way”, and there was an open threat in Jack’s voice. Not that Hanzo minded, but the pallor on the soldier’s face, the subtle yet clear pain in his eyes restrained him from another angry retort. He sucked on his teeth and waited.

“You are not completely wrong”. Winston sighed and leaned back in the chair. “We made little progress after Gabe left Overwatch, and we’re so few… almost too few to survive. We have a noble goal, but we need supplies, food, connections, it’s…”

“I can help. If it’s just about money I can’t think of a better use of my funds, and you only need to ask”.

Something softened on Jack’s face, and he slowly relaxed back in his seat.

“We’re keeping our heads above water for now, and I’m sure you’ll be helpful when your time comes. But such time is not now: we can’t spare resources to train you on the field, and you were correct, our task is not proceeding at the necessary speed. I’m sorry if you’re not feeling welcome, because you are – if nothing else for the good influence you seem to have on some members of our team – but I need to ask you to be patient for now”.

“For now. And for how long?” he pressed on, trying not to let Jack’s words impress him. A good influence? _Him_?

“This I can’t tell. But since you are so eager to lend a hand, I’ll arrange something in the next days; maybe you could escort Angela on one of her tours”, said Winston, rubbing his chin in his hand.

“Come on, Hanzo, I didn’t want our conversation to get sour”. Jack pushed his chair back and extended his hand in a peace offering. “I’m tired and angry, but it’s not your fault”.

Hanzo wanted to swat his hand away. Again, he felt treated like a child, and his pride urged him to keep arguing. However, yelling at a bitter grey soldier seemed pointless, and with a sigh he accepted Jack’s hand in a firm, quick shake.

“I’ll better keep training, then. It’s the only reasonable thing I can do”, he muttered. Winston, relieved, smiled.

“A good idea. One doesn’t ever train too much”.

“Says someone who doesn’t train at all…” Jack grumbled with a crooked grin, and Winston frowned, outraged.

“I do train! I follow a strict program, and my mutation doesn’t force me to work myself thin like someone else here does!”

They kept bickering for a while, and Hanzo decided his presence was not required anymore. He got to his feet, mumbled a “See you later” and left.

All in all, having something to think about was not that bad, and it was a relaxing distraction from a very familiar, charming smile and smooth talk. 

And with that, of course, his mind wandered back to McCree and the way his body had felt beneath him after that ungraceful fall. 

Hanzo was still deep in thought when he turned around a corner, and the big dark thing dangling from the pipes caught him off guard. With a muffled yelp he stopped in the middle of the corridor, looking up at Genji, hanging upside down from the ceiling.

“Look at me, brother! I’m Batman!” he said, wrapping his wings around his body.

Hanzo arched an eyebrow and shook his head, walking past him.

“You’re obnoxiously rich and both your parents are dead, so yes, the comparison is fitting”, he deadpanned. Genji slid his legs from the pipe and landed gracefully behind him, walking fast to catch up with him.

“Wait wait – what was that? I sense something unexpected”, and he sniffed Hanzo, who pushed him back with a low chuckle. “It’s sarcasm! You made a pun, Hanzo, I’m so proud of you!”

“Do not underestimate my power, Sparrow”.

“… and more geek quotes! Stop it now, or you’ll risk becoming funny, it could kill you!”

Hanzo rolled his eyes and turned to look at him.

“What were you doing up there, anyway? Besides nagging me, of course”.

“I was looking for you. I wanted to invite you for another session of air training, but then I met McCree and I think you should go and see him”. His nonchalant tone was suspicious, and Hanzo narrowed his eyes.

“Did he tell you what he wanted?”  
  
“What? Oh – no, but he asked me where you were and seemed a bit sad when I told him you were in a meeting. But if you’re interested, he said he was going to hang out on the platform outside. It wouldn’t hurt to spend some time with him…”

Hanzo wished he could push his blood back from his face; to hide his embarrassment he undid his ponytail and tied his hair back in a high bun.

“If he wants to be on his own I won’t bother him”.

Genji let out a loud huff and slid in front of his brother.

“You can be as dumb as a rock. Do you think I didn’t notice how you look at him?”

“I’m not going to have this talk with you. Not here, not now, not ever”, he hissed, walking fast past Genji.

“Hanzo, please. If I promise not to interfere ever again will you just give yourself a chance to be happy? You deserve it…”

Had Genji kept up with his light-hearted tone, Hanzo could’ve ignored him. But he sounded so sincere, and he knew his brother cared about him deeply – and worst of all, he was right. He kept his head low and his stiff back straight.

“Did Zenyatta tell you?”

“He  _ knew _ ? What the fuck, no, he didn’t tell me a thing!”

Hanzo wanted to punch himself in the face for giving himself away like this, and in part for not trusting Zenyatta’s word. He probably needed to offer him his apologies for his lack of trust, but right now he was too busy praying he could die of spontaneous combustion.

“Nevermind. I... I’ve got to go now, so if you could please not make this chat something of public domain I’d be extremely grateful”, and he walked away, a bit faster than necessary.

Genji didn’t follow him, and Hanzo was sure his eyes were still wide and fixed on his back. Shame burned bright under his skin, and all he wanted was to disappear from Earth until everyone had forgotten about his existence.

He was not going to search for McCree, of course. What use could it be? Sure, a quiet hour staring at the sunset in good company was a harmless pleasure, but now it would have been suspicious.

And he had enough things in his mind already, without adding to the pile his brother’s interference in his private life. As if he needed a chaperone…

His cheeks burned, his fingers prickled with an instinct he couldn’t identify – and in his aimless wandering around the base, his feet decided someone had to take the lead and make things happen.

He barely realized his walk was taking him to one of the doors, and blinking he stood there, unable to unlock the pad on the wall.

Even so, he could hear a soft music coming from outside.

For a while he didn’t move, letting the notes caress his ears with their melancholic melody, and with a confidence that transcended his mind, he knew it was McCree playing. His hands went to the door and trembled on the rusty surface in a shy caress, and when he leaned forward, his forehead against his knuckles, his heart swelled in his chest. 

It was him. It was McCree, with his missing arm and stifled anger, with that painfully gentle soul that made Hanzo weep inside, and it all shone through the music he couldn’t fully recognize.

A long sigh climbed up his throat. How could it be that just a handful of months before he’d only felt revulsion and distrust for that man? A whole lifetime of grooming had conditioned him so much…

Hanzo pressed his lips into a tight line to stop them from trembling for the overload of feelings. He felt raw, vulnerable, and a part of him wanted to turn around and run to the safety of his room. There were no temptations there, no dreams of hope that could very well exist only in his fantasy. No McCree.

The click of the lock startled him, and Hanzo jumped back when the door slowly opened.

“Hey there, honeybee”, McCree greeted him, tilting his hat back with his thumb. 

Hanzo opened and closed his mouth, feeling pretty much like a beached fish, and felt his face go red. Again.

“I thought I heard something”, McCree continued, slightly moving his ears forward, “but I’m luckier than a leprechaun since I found you here…”

“I… was just…”

_ Not like this, Hanzo. You’re not some blushing teen, pull yourself together! _

He breathed through his nose and tucked his hair behind his ear. If only he could command his heart not to beat that fast…

“Genji told me you asked of me. What’s happening?”

_ Better. You almost sounded convincing. Now you could look at him instead that at your feet. _

“Oh, nothing, really – I was just enjoying the sunset on my own, but it can get pretty lonely here sometimes… care to join me?” Hanzo looked up to see McCree point at the platform behind him. And for all his doubts, what sparkled in his eyes was dangerously similar to anticipation.

“I should be training, and you probably should be working with…”

His voice died mid-sentence. This was the old Hanzo, all rules and duty, a person that hadn't done anything worth noting in his whole life and that now was far enough to be almost only a memory.

Hanzo let his mouth curl into a smirk and stared into McCree’s eyes.

“… nevermind. It would be my pleasure”.

McCree brightened and held the door as Hanzo walked outside, and in doing so their bodies brushed together. A minimal touch, casual and innocent – definitely not so innocent in Hanzo’s mind.

The world was bathed in the vivid orange and purple of a polluted sunset, and for once the ruins didn’t seem so depressing. Hanzo had been right, McCree’s guitar was abandoned by the edge of the platform together with a squished cigarette pack. As he sat with his legs dangling down the cliff – not afraid, not anymore: he knew he could fly, and he was not so sure he was only thinking about his wings, now – he enjoyed a moment of peace and unexpected beauty. San Angeles drummed and lived in the distance, with its millions of souls struggling to survive and an army of desperate mutants living on the leftovers of their society; but now, as McCree sat at his side and retrieved his guitar, he allowed himself a break.

“I didn’t know you could play”, he admitted. “I’m sorry I interrupted you, McCree”.

McCree bumped him with his shoulder and winked, his teeth a flash of white in his beard.

“’Tis something easy to fix, darlin’”, he said, setting the instrument on his leg. Before he began strumming, Hanzo noticed that he held it differently than he’d ever seen.

“Are you left-handed?” he asked, and McCree, focused on adjusting the tuners, clicked his tongue.

“Not really, but when you lose an arm you have to find new ways to be yerself. And this beauty”, he wiggled his metal fingers, “is decent enough for picking, not so much for chords, so I had to learn to play all over again”.

“Oh”, he breathed out in earnest awe. McCree was at his right, so near their legs touched; none of them tried to move, and after a second the music resumed.

The melody rose in warm spirals around them, an old tune Hanzo recognized after a minute or so; sad and sweet, telling tales of loss and regrets that spoke right to his heart. 

It was enough, for now. Sharing another person’s company without the burden of his own guilt, letting the music speak of each other’s demons in the most calming, safe way – he could get used to that. And if with every new day Hanzo was more and more aware of his feelings for McCree, he didn’t need them to be reciprocated to be valid. 

Oh, but how much he wanted to lean against McCree’s muscular shoulder, to feel his breath caress his ear…

He slowly shook his head and smiled at the setting sun, the vibrant sky sparkling with his own heart-breaking tenderness.

The metal fingers made the chord vibrate in clean, long notes; Hanzo knew how infuriating and relevant was the pressure of McCree’s thigh against his own, but decided to let it be. For now. No use in spoiling a beautiful moment with his own troubles, even if one of the causes of such troubles was the distractingly charming man at his side.

Johnny Cash’s music filled the air around them, a danger for their hideout and a remote sting in Hanzo’s consciousness – but then again, he was with McCree.

He trusted him.

After a while, McCree’s low voice added up to the music, and Hanzo was sure he could have cried at the sound.   
  


 

˜ ˜ ˜ ˜ ˜

 

 

McCree knew he could sing. To be honest, he was quite proud of his deep baritone voice, but he couldn’t remember the last time he’d let anyone hear him sing. Mostly he kept it to himself, humming tunes as he strummed quietly in his room, careful not to let other people hear him or, worse, listen attentively.

Now, though, it was a completely different matter. He felt the lyrics bubble from his heart, and it was as if they were written for him, to shape his years of loneliness and loss and darkness.

_ What have I become, my sweetest friend? _ _  
_ _ Everyone I know goes away in the end… _

He closed his eyes and let music invade him. He didn’t need to see the world slow down around him, or Hanzo’s beautiful silhouette against the copper sky. They were together, they were alone, and the heat from the other man’s body melted something inside him.

If he wasn’t imagining things – and he knew this wasn’t the case – Hanzo moved a bit closer, nearly leaning against him. McCree smiled as a big, dark blue wing caressed his back, an unintentional gesture that sent a gentle shiver up his spine and made his voice tremble on a low note.

Gabe was gone, the cause lost, but there was more than despair in his future. If only he could have foretold that insufferable Shimada would have played such an important role in his return to Overwatch…

_ If I could start again  _ __  
_ A million miles away  _ __  
_ I would keep myself  _ _  
_ __ I would find a way

The last chord vibrated in the still air, and his voice dragged in a soft whisper. When the last echo of the sound faded under a gust of wind, McCree took a slow breath and didn’t stop the smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

Hanzo was warm, and his silence spoke a thousand words. It had always been so, even in those first, terrible days when he’d refused to talk to anyone, only to subside to McCree’s insistence. 

It was alright. He let his heart slow down and his body relax, barely resisting the impulse of wrapping his arm around Hanzo’s shoulder to hold him closer. That moment, weeks before, when Hanzo had literally fallen from the sky and right into his arms had been a turning point – from a nervous, almost shocked attraction to the deep awareness that the feeling was real and pure and true. 

And now every small movement against his body, every trace of Hanzo’s scent around him, reinforced his belief – he was starting to like Hanzo more than he’d ever liked anyone else.

Squirming as little as he could he put the guitar back and stretched, leaning back on his tense arms, hands flat on the cracked concrete.

“You have a beautiful voice”, Hanzo whispered, and McCree opened his eyes. 

Even if he was not looking at him, the noble profile lined in gold by the long rays of the sun, McCree knew that all of Hanzo’s attention was on him. With a soft chuckle, he took the hat from his head and ruffled his hair.

“Well thank you kindly, sugar. I try to avoid singing in public, y’know, just to spare the others my heathen howling”.

Hanzo grinned and poked him in the side with his elbow.

“Now you’re playing coy, and you’re fooling no one… you know you’re good”.

“Yeah, alright, alright, you got me here. But…” he sighed. One of Hanzo’s wings touched his arm and he didn’t move. “It’s something I do mostly for myself, that’s it”.

Hanzo turned to him, long lashes as dark as freshly painted ink. 

“Then why did you…”

“I wanted to share it with you. And before you ask, I really have no clue why this sounded like a good idea”.

Hanzo’s shoulders trembled in a soundless laughter, and after a while he replied.

“It was. I really appreciate it, Jesse”.

McCree felt the last word drop in his soul and ripple circles inside him. He briefly met Hanzo’s eyes – those dark, beautiful eyes; how could they be so calm and stormy at the same time? – and cocked an eyebrow.

No, it was nothing, better not presume too much, he told himself, shaking his head.

But Hanzo read through his face; when he tilted his head to the side his hair unrolled on his shoulder, a shiny black cascade that looked almost blue under the last sun.

“A penny for your thoughts?”

“Shoot, babe, I didn’t think you were a curious one!” he tried to laugh it off, but Hanzo was serious, and their bodies still ridiculously close. McCree sighed and rubbed the back of his neck, where the serum pump anchored to his skin. “Ok, as you wish – I was just surprised, that’s all”.

“By what?”

“You called me by my name for the first time. And I liked it”.

“I did… I…”

Hanzo’s cheekbones darkened and he quickly looked away, his hands pressed under his legs. McCree felt a surge of concern and was about to apologize, even if he didn’t know exactly for what, but then Hanzo spoke again.

“I remember when… when you did the same. When you first called me Hanzo”. He shifted in his place and moved his hands to his lap, turning them to stare at his palms. “I was just  _ Shimada _ for you, and a whole lot of other not so friendly names – but after you saw me… trying to… to…”

His voice betrayed him and he gestured to his wings, and McCree shivered at the memory of blood running down Hanzo’s back, of his eyes wild with panic and denial, of the deep creaking of his broken bones.

“I know”, he said quickly to stop his thoughts from derailing to such a horrifying path. “And I’ve been wantin’ to tell you that I’m sorry for a while now. I’ve been kinda an asshole to you…”

“No need to. You had very good reasons not to trust me – and, in return, I should thank you for your stubbornness. Hadn’t it been for you, I don’t know if I’d ever managed to overcome my past”. Hanzo’s skin was flushed red, his head low, and McCree fumbled for words he couldn’t find.

How could he tell him  _ I’m glad you stayed _ , or  _ I’m so happy I was wrong, there’s hope for you and for us all, maybe _ without sounding obvious or awkward?

Hanzo saved him the trouble. His head shot up and he planted a fiery gaze into McCree’s eyes.

“Is it because I’m a mutant, isn’t it?”

“W-What?”

“You pity me and only showed interest when you found out I was like you, I…”

“No!” He interrupted him abruptly. His hand closed on Hanzo’s wrist, and a distant part of his brain rejoiced when he didn’t shrink away. “No, it… it’s different”.

“You did it for Genji, then?”

“I did it because you were alone and in pain and I’m not one to leave a person in such a state. No matter how many mistakes they’ve made”,  and he stopped Hanzo before he could object. “I made more than my share, and I didn’t know half of your story. You needed to heal, and I needed it too – and…”

_ C’mon, cowboy, it’s your time to be brave. _

“… and honestly, consider me shallow if you want, I have eyes to see”, he admitted, feeling his neck and ears go unusually warm.

Hanzo’s mouth opened slowly, eyes wide and that adorable blush crawling up from his beard.

“… oh”, he said simply. He quickly turned to stare at the horizon, but McCree didn’t miss how he pressed himself closer to him.

It really sounded like a love declaration, and judging by the other’s reaction maybe it was not so unwelcomed. McCree dared to hope he was right, and tentatively slid his arm on Hanzo’s shoulders.

To his delight, Hanzo sighed and leaned his head against him; he knew it already, but now that he was so close his smell was incredible, clean and sharp like freshly mown grass. 

_ I’m in heaven _ , he sighed inwardly, pressing his cheek to Hanzo’s soft hair.

It was all so deliciously cliché – the sunset, the music still living inside him, their goofy conversation and now this. He stifled a chuckle and Hanzo didn’t miss it, because he looked up to his face with his elegant eyebrows arched.

“Yes?”

“I’m sorry, honeybun, but this looks so much like a scene from a movie…”

“Oh, really? And what kind of movie?” he grinned back, and McCree shrugged.

“Dunno, but see, were we in some sappy romantic story this would be the perfect time to kiss you”.

His voice dropped an octave, and he didn’t sound so flirty anymore. Hanzo, too, went serious, eyes hooded and breath caressing McCree’s lips.

“But this is not a movie…”

“What if I still wanted to kiss you?”

His whisper fluttered in the space between them – a space that became more and more irrelevant with every passing moment. Hanzo lowered his lids and stared at McCree’s lips, only to go back to look him in the eye with a glimmer of longing.

“Jesse, I…”

He never finished his sentence. Clenching his fists, he closed the distance between them, and his mouth – so big and soft and surprisingly sweet – found McCree’s.

For a second, McCree couldn’t move. Everything, every tear and angry outburst and hope and doubt was centered in the pressure of Hanzo’s lips on his own – in his eyes fluttering closed, in the dark, thick lashes brushing his cheekbones. He was scared to even breathe, to break something in their perfect moment – but he was nothing but a man, now holding in his arms the person he’d secretly been pining for for weeks, and there was so much his self-control could endure. The first tentative brush of his tongue on the seam of Hanzo’s lips broke the dam, and before he could realize it Hanzo was kissing him senseless.

He’d expected… what? Right now he couldn’t tell, his arms busy wrapping around Hanzo’s waist and scooping him closer until there was just the insufferable barrier of their clothes between them. But the man had seemed so stern, even cold despite the clear warming between them. And now instead Hanzo was kissing him with all his being, mouth slowly opening under him and fingers grabbing handfuls of crumpled fabric from his shirt. McCree ran a hand up his spine and he was trembling, fingertips brushing the soft skin and rippling muscles underneath, sliding over the impossibly warm membrane of his wings and sinking into his hair. Silk and fire, something he’d realized since that first, casual ruffling many weeks before. In another life, perhaps.

Hanzo’s tongue searched and caressed and asked for more, and his breath came out in quiet, stifled gasps. McCree couldn’t keep his eyes open but all his other senses were full of Hanzo, hard body under his palms, the vague taste of coffee on his lips, that smell he was addicted to already.

He kept Hanzo in a desperate embrace, oblivious of the abyss gaping at their feet and pulling him closer until he was half on his lap. 

To this, Hanzo stopped abruptly, and McCree cursed himself for having overstepped.

“Too much?” he asked in a ragged whisper. His hands still rested on Hanzo’s waist, his lips tingled from the kiss, and he prayed he didn’t spoil the moment. Hanzo’s eyes, wide with something McCree couldn’t identify but that looked dangerously like his own desire – or so he hoped – shook his head once, and before he could speak his concerns McCree found himself on his back. Hanzo straddled his hips and hunched forward, and the kiss resumed, more heated than before.

Swallowing back a moan and a heartfelt ‘thank you’ to whatever supernatural spirit was blessing him, McCree angled his head to better fit against Hanzo’s lips, and his fingers shivered on the thin fabric of the t-shirt standing in his way. Hanzo didn’t hold anything back, and his hands cupped McCree’s face to hold him closer, as if he’d feared he could break away.

McCree knew he’d rather be dead than stop kissing Hanzo. It seemed impossible that he had a life before now, that he could have called himself alive without the warmth of the body on top of him, the wings splayed around them like a canopy of stars. Heart pounding in his throat, he ignored his need for air, because now all he needed was the way Hanzo bit his lower lip or whispered his name blushing fiercely. 

They had to stop, because apnoea was something they both could endure but for a while, and McCree perched himself on his elbows, raising his hand to gently caress Hanzo’s burning cheek.

None of them dared to speak; Hanzo leaned his forehead against McCree’s and slowly opened his eyes. His lips, swollen, red with kisses, curled into a shaky smile.

“Hey”, Hanzo said softly, running his hands through McCree’s hair.

“Hey”, he replied with a muffled chuckle. Hanzo’s beard was a soft, prickling thing under his fingers. He felt he needed their kisses more than air, and he sat up to capture Hanzo’s mouth again with no hesitation. As if it was the most important thing in the world ever – and it was. For them both, considering how Hanzo arched on top of him, sweeping his tongue in McCree’s mouth with a low groan. 

A fleeting thought darted through McCree’s mind. Someone could have walked on them any moment, they were far from hiding… but as it was born, the idea disappeared. He had no intention to hide, now or ever, and his hand tightened his grip on Hanzo’s waist, sliding just a bit to grab his hip.

They were kissing like drowning men, the other their only chance to breathe ever again, and McCree’s eyes shot open when Hanzo rutted slowly on him. Just once, as if unsure of how his needy movement could be perceived.

McCree let out a small surprised noise, but his whole body had a way more enthusiastic reaction. The unexpected grinding against him had a sudden effect on his arousal, and he felt blood boil under his skin. The push of Hanzo’s lips was relentless, and the next flick of his hips met an unmistakable awakening down under.

Once more, McCree had to break from the kiss to catch a long, shuddering breath. Hanzo was flushed, hooded eyes darting to his lips and then up again. Need and despair and the nameless feeling they’d been harboring for weeks now brutally exposed. McCree let his nails rake down Hanzo’s torso, stopping just before the jutting of his hip bone.

“Ain’t you the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen”, he croaked, ashamed of his naive, sincere words but at the same time unable to hold the truth back. Hanzo dipped his head and his hair fell around his face, but it wasn’t embarrassment what curled his lips in the sweetest smile McCree had ever seen.

“Just to inform you, there’s no need to flirt. You got me already…”

At this, McCree laughed for real, if only for a second.

“But it’s true”, and he pulled Hanzo closer. Just another inch and he could’ve grabbed his ass – something he didn’t dare to do yet. “Told ya, I’ve got eyes to see, and you…”

Words failed him. He pressed himself against Hanzo until his nose was buried in the crook of his neck; from here, kissing the pulse under the warm blue scales was just a matter of seconds, and when Hanzo started to move once more, now more deliberately, being gentle became quite complicated. 

He sucked and bit, panting when Hanzo urged his head up to kiss him again, the tip of his tongue tracing his lips in languid sweeps.

“You really are”, insisted McCree in a shaky breath. “Pretty. And perfect. And nothing in you is less than that – perfect”.

Something gave way in Hanzo’s movements, and when McCree’s hips shot upwards to meet that hopeless friction, he realized the other was getting hard, too. It was enough to make his head spin, and it cost him a good deal of his determination to slow down. His hands went up again and slid under Hanzo’s shirt, stroking the soft membrane of his wings.

It was alive and mysterious against his skin, warm and twitching with their embrace, and all at once a brand-new need blazed in his mind.

“Hanzo… would you…”, his fingers traced the tendon stretching from the other’s back, the long bones flexing under his touch. “Open them. For me?”

His mouth was at Hanzo’s throat again, and when he swallowed hard the movement reverberated against his lips. For a second nothing happened, except for Hanzo’s rhythmic grinding against him, and then he stopped. 

McCree was about to apologize for his untimely request, and maybe he’d sounded like a creep indeed, but then Hanzo nodded and pushed him back on the cool grass. His fingers found the hem of his t-shirt and rolled it up with surprisingly little grace for such an elegant man; a flick of his wrist and the t-shirt fell to the ground, leaving McCree awed at the marvel above him.

He knew what hid underneath Hanzo’s clothes – he’d imagined it long before he got the chance to see him in all his glory. But now? Now it was a different matter. He couldn’t help but touch the straight lines of his collarbones, to run his palms flat on the vast expanse of Hanzo’s perfect chest, and he had to stop himself from groping. But dear god, he wanted it so much… just not right now. His fingers followed the trace of ribs and muscles on Hanzo’s sides, and down again until his thumbs rested on the oblique bands on his stomach, tightening under his touch. With a barely audible moan, Hanzo started to move again, pressing his erection alongside McCree’s.

As slowly as the crimson sun behind him, Hanzo spread his wings. The last light of the day shone through the thin layer of skin and muscles, turning its blue color into a galaxy of purple and pink that made McCree sigh through his throat, clenched with emotions. He reverently touched the membrane, shivering as he felt it react to his hands with a gentle vibration, and when Hanzo leaned forward until their lips were so close it was almost – and so much more than – a kiss, he could have cried for how precious this moment was.

“I didn’t expect I could want someone”, a hushed whisper, and McCree drank it thirstily, “the way I want you”. Hanzo let his hands trail down McCree’s body, pulling his t-shirt up until his stomach and chest were exposed. There were scars there, more than one could count, two bullet holes on his side, a pale slash through his chest hairs. Hanzo traced them all with shaky fingers, sending goosebumps up McCree’s arm and blowing on the already raging fire of his desire. 

McCree growled in a low voice and let go of his constraints; he grabbed Hanzo’s ass, so perfectly round and full in his hands, and urged him forward. 

“You have no idea”, he panted in reply, and when Hanzo stopped his caress somewhere under his belt he bit his lip. 

_ May I _ ? those dark eyes seemed to ask, a permission McCree was all too happy to give. He slid his fingers between their bodies and fumbled with his belt, snarling against Hanzo’s lips as his palm pressed steadily on his hard cock. And now they were kissing again, sloppy and chaotic as both of them fought the barriers of their pants. With a muffled sob, McCree threw his head back when at last the fly of his jeans opened and the waistband of Hanzo’s sweatpants slithered down in his fingers.

Hanzo’s cock was rock hard just like his own, and now that they were lying side by side McCree could just take the other’s hand and guide him forward. Hanzo’s breath hitched in his throat as he wrapped his fingers around them both, and McCree did the same, lifting his hips to slide into the tight confinement of their fist. 

_ If only I had thought about this I could have come prepared _ , he said, but there was little to regret now that Hanzo was stroking them slowly, the sensation going straight from his crotch to his head. Soon the grip became slick, and McCree wanted so many things he knew he could get some other time. Something to look forward to.

He allowed himself to touch Hanzo again, all over his sweaty skin, until his hand closed on his chest, massaging and wishing his grip was steady enough to make his caress something more refined than this blind groping. 

Hanzo’s fingers twitched around their cocks, and when he thumbed at the tip, McCree sunk his teeth into the other man’s shoulder to stifle a whine. His thighs trembled, his stomach tensed with every movement to chase Hanzo’s friction – and on top of that, Hanzo himself would have been enough to break him. 

He’d told him he was perfect, but this was something else. Hidden behind the pleasure twisting his features, an unbearable sweetness sparkled through his half-closed eyes. 

The movements around him grew inconsistent, and he knew Hanzo was almost there. If frantically fucking their clenched hands were not enough, this realization snapped something inside McCree.

Now that the sun was gone and the world was bathed in purple light, Hanzo was a marble statue with shiny lips and veins bulging on his neck. A broken whisper fell from his lips – McCree’s name, thick and full of so much of  _ them _ – and nothing more, because Hanzo’s voice turned into an incoherent moan and McCree sought his mouth again. 

Hanzo spilled in his hand with a roar, muffled by McCree’s tongue. The sound throbbed through his whole being, and the hot wetness making his movements more fluid did the trick. Hanzo wasn’t done stroking him or kissing him or panting his name against his lips when the strain in his body gave way with a  _ pop _ . McCree, loud as he usually was, only managed a choked whine as his face writhed with his release. He panted and almost sobbed, pressing his face against Hanzo’s shoulder and curling his fist on his cock just in time to avoid making a mess.

Even spent, he couldn’t let go of Hanzo. He sloppily wiped his hand on the grass, his other one rising again to grab his chin and hold him against his mouth; he could feel the beat of their hearts thundering in their kiss, and Hanzo didn’t pull back. Even when they parted for air, he curled in his lap, throwing his arms around his neck.

Their silence, the look they shared, spoke volumes of what they’re both feeling – or so McCree hoped, because he was gone. Completely, deliciously gone. 

Hanzo kissed his neck, his cheek, his forehead with tender abandonment, until McCree chuckled.

“Woah there, darlin’… one could get used to this, y’know?”

“All too well”, was the trembling reply. Leaning their foreheads together, Hanzo brushed the tip of his nose against McCree’s. “I got carried away”.

“I’m happy you did”, and he pecked a kiss on his lips. They should have got up and back to the base, but letting go of Hanzo was beyond his possibilities right now, so he just rubbed slow caresses on his back, nearly cradling him in his lap. “Dunno where you’ve been for all my life, but trust me, babe, I’m fine with where you are now”.

Hanzo laughed and buried his nose in his shoulder. It felt… good. Easy, natural, free.

“But lemme tell ya, I have a more than decent bed and a room with a proper door, so next time… I mean, if… if you want a next time, that is…”

“ _ Yes _ . Yes to beds and doors and next times”, he interrupted him, one long hand ruffling his beard. The smile on Hanzo’s lips rivaled in brightness the newborn moon in the East, and McCree held him tight until his own voice felt steady again. Face pressed against the other’s shoulder, he couldn’t stifle a chuckle.

“What now?”

“Ain’t gonna tell nobody if yer not willing to, but I want to hope we were out of the security cameras’ range”, he grumbled, and to his surprise, Hanzo laughed back. No shame or embarrassment – just the two of them.

“Good for us you were blocking the view, most likely…”

And then it struck him. Maybe it was just him dreaming things, maybe it was too early, but McCree was fairly sure there was some subtext in the last sentence. When he lifted his eyes to meet Hanzo’s, the answer was in the tender light in his gaze, in the slow kiss parting his lips.

“I’ve been hiding for all my life. I can be a discreet person, but if you agree, I don’t plan to turn us into a secret”.

“We’re on the same page, sweetheart”.

And it was alright. Someone would have laughed, and maybe Jack was going to lecture them on not letting their relationship distract them from work – he was one to talk – and Genji was surely going to give him a speech about not hurting his brother.

It didn’t matter.

It was alright, and the future looked a bit brighter.


	11. Broken

 

[Broken](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hPC2Fp7IT7o)

  


All in all, Elias Dreschner considered himself happy with his current situation. It was a comforting thought whose company to share in the silence of his office.  
  
Two years after the disaster in their previous labs, he had to keep lower standards – fewer samples to be analyzed, lower quality and a more discreet number of people at his service – but he could go to bed every night, always at the same time to guarantee himself the seven hours of sleep his brain required to be at its best, knowing he was doing the right thing.  
  
He deserved better than this small room with grey metal cabinets and a desk with a chapped surface, but it was ok. All things that mattered were there – he himself, of course, and secondly the hi-tech safe at his back, where all his results were carefully hidden.  
  
Sure, such results were scarce, and he had to consider how to justify them to the advisory board in due time, but they were progressing. They’d recently found a subject with an interesting form of mutation that allowed it to re-establish neural connection after a dissection, and he’d collected some interesting data that could process the research. Too bad the mutant hadn’t survived the last battery of tests, it was a possible source of good material.  
  
It was almost closing time, but Dreschner found it increasingly difficult to leave the building. In part because the most relevant part of his life was there, among those dismal graffiti-ridden walls that hid a secret heart of science and progress; in part because there was little waiting for him at home, but mostly, and he despised the thought, because the way down to his tidy, cold apartment scared him. The whole block was nearly abandoned, and while this was good for the Registration Act goals, it made him rather uncomfortable to walk the desert streets on his own.  
  
But honestly, the truth was he thought 24 hours were not enough for his greed of knowledge, as were the means the government provided. Of course, there was no way anyone in the high towers could endorse his methods, so he had to make do, but this didn’t mean it wasn’t frustrating.  
  
He was in the middle of the last steps of his daily routine. His papers – those he could afford to leave in sight, even if the only person who could enter his office, beside him, was Clementine, who had no idea what those numbers meant – were neatly piled at his left, his black planner lay closed to his right with two pens, one blue, the other red. The digital clock on top of the door told him in bold red numbers that it was twenty minutes to 8 PM. Almost time to pick himself up and go, together with the constant concern of leaving his precious data on their own.  
  
The knock on the door didn’t startle him, expected and reassuring. He smiled and leaned back in his chair.  
  
“Come”, he said. Clementine appeared on the threshold, holding his last coffee of the day. Seeing her walk to him with her gentle face and small hands wrapped around the mug almost felt like family.  
  
The moment the thought flashed through his mind he shook his head. That was, of course, too much: he had little in common with his personal assistant, whose professional help relieved him of many petty tasks and paper works that would clutter his already busy schedule. But that was it – a good, simple woman he could trust. Nothing more.  
  
Clementine put the steaming coffee on a square metal coaster and brushed her hands together.  
  
“Here you go, doctor”, she said in her soft voice without looking at him.  
  
“Thank you kindly, Clementine. Have you checked my latest shipment of tea from London? I’m running thin, and I hope…”  
  
“It will arrive tomorrow at 9 PM. I made sure it’ll be delivered to your address by the time you’re home”.  
  
“You’re unique, my dear. Has the night security team arrived already?”  
  
“They’re reaching their position, doctor”. Her eyes shot for a second around the room, and Dreschner frowned.  
  
“Is everything alright?”  
  
Clementine blinked and quickly lowered her face again.  
  
“Y-Yes, but I fear you’ll run late tonight. There is…”  
  
She couldn’t finish her sentence, because a loud tickling of heels approached from the corridor.  
  
Dreschner closed his eyes and smothered a surge of irritation, knowing exactly who would appear on the door.  
  
“Look look, our little Josef Mengele is still here”, colonel Hillridge said in a singsong voice.  
  
The more he could go without looking at her square, hard face, the happier Dreschner was. But of course he couldn’t let her get away with the suspicion he’d fallen asleep on his workplace.  
  
“Sometimes I really wish I was Mengele. I’d be dead, then, and wouldn’t have to suffer your presence”. He looked at her with a frown and placed his elbows on the desk. “How can I help you, Colonel?”  
  
“Oh, I don’t know”, she said, walking to the desk and standing there, arms crossed over her chest. Her cruel dark eyes went from Dreschner’s face to his coffee, and something sparkled in their depths. “How considerate of you, I just needed a boost”.  
  
She took the mug and drank it, even if it was clearly scorching hot. Dreschner ground his teeth and glared at her – no human could have drained a whole mug of freshly brewed coffee unflinching, but unfortunately Hillridge was boringly normal. Had she been a mutant…  
  
“Please, help yourself”, he said flatly. Disgust scratched his throat as he saw a dark trickle run down to the desk, and then even more when Hillridge put the mug down. Not on the coaster, as any civilized person would’ve done, but right on top of his documents.  
  
Dreschner stared wide-eyed at the hideous wet circle ruining the white perfection of paper, almost too shocked to properly take in Hillridge’s words.  
  
“Just for your information, I have something you might be interested in. Some of my guys have been searching the slums; it looks like we have a severe case of good Samaritan mixed with a yet unknown mutation, and…”  
  
“You drank my coffee. You… you soiled my stuff…” he muttered, horror cracking his voice. Clementine was a blur at the corner of his eyesight, justly as shocked as he was, hands pressed to her mouth as she looked at him.  
  
He roused with a shiver and tried to look and sound calming as he stared at his assistant.  
  
“Clementine, my dear, you look pale. Are you feeling well?”  
  
The woman’s eyes danced for a moment somewhere above Dreschner’s shoulder, and from the pit of his anger, he picked a glimmer of pity for her. She looked exhausted indeed, and the last thing he needed was to feel guilty for pushing a trusted co-worker to her limit.  
  
She blinked, still not turning to colonel Hillridge, and worried her lip.  
  
“I’m sorry, dr. Dreschner, I fear I’m harboring the flu. I’ve been dizzy all day, and…”  
  
“Poor darling, I thought so – you can take your day off tomorrow if you wish, I can survive on my own. Now go home to your family”, he said, even if he had no idea whether she had one, “and let me know if you need any prescription for medicines”.  
  
“Thank you, dr. Dreschner”, she said under her breath; she looked once more at him, slightly unfocused, and quietly walked away, nodding a quick greeting to the colonel.  
  
Hillridge waited until the woman had closed the door behind her and snorted.  
  
“Couldn’t you find someone brighter for the role?”  
  
“Clementine is a skilled and gentle person – unlike someone else – and I won’t stand your rudeness. Now, if you have nothing worth saying…”  
  
“Were you even listening, you nerd?” Hillridge banged her fist on the table and leaned forward, eyes narrowed and every pretense of cheerfulness gone. “I found a mutant I want. Woman, late twenties, early thirties maybe, blonde. She’s clearly some kind of health professional, she goes around the sprawl and takes care of the mutant rats living there”.  
  
Dreschner shivered and snarled at her.  
  
“… you want a new toy, colonel?”  
  
“No, I want her DNA. And you would, too, once you know what she can do”. She slid her hand into the pocket of her pants and produced a picture of a blonde woman crouching by an old homeless man. A faint glow sparkled around her hands. Dreschner took the picture and squinted at it.  
  
“So what?”  
  
“Healing. We found traces of recently healed sores on the beggar’s body – he’s down in your cages already – and I think…”  
  
Her words slurred into a distant buzz, and Dreschner felt a brutal wave of intellectual arousal wash over his body.  
  
Healing powers. Exactly what he’d been looking for, years of stubborn research and nothing useful. And now that strange lady in the picture, with a sweet face and slender hands, seemed to hold the answer to his question.  
  
His fingers trembled on the photograph and he didn’t try to conceal his excitement as he looked up at Hillridge.  
  
“When?” he asked in a whisper. The colonel gave him her predator grin.  
  
“Soon”.  
  
Suddenly, nothing mattered anymore. The stain on his documents, the stolen coffee, the clock telling him it was late, and even Hillridge’s annoying presence.  
  
A chance.  
  
He’d never wanted anything so much in his whole life.

 

˜˜˜˜˜

 

 

Fate blessed them with a few days of peace. McCree felt like he was walking on clouds anytime his memory wandered to the moments he shared with Hanzo – and it happened more often than he dared to admit. For some kind of unspoken deal, they were not rushing things; each night McCree escorted Hanzo to his room and bid him goodnight with a kiss that made the other’s eyes shine and crinkle in a smile that was all for him.

Step by step, together; and if McCree remembered very well Hanzo’s determination in not hiding their relationship, he did his best not to make him uncomfortable. A safety measure that proved useless three days after their kiss (and everything else).

He’d slept surprisingly well, dreams full of shiny black hair and soft whispers against his mouth, and when he’d got up and off to the kitchen for breakfast, a good part of Overwatch was already there – Jack and Winston were probably already busy with their transoceanic calls, and Lena was due to escort Angela in her patrols. They were running late, but it was nothing unusual, so he didn’t give them a second thought.

With a giant yawn he waved his companions good morning, and through watery eyes he scanned the table.

Hanzo was there, sitting across the table and chewing on a cookie. Their eyes met briefly, and McCree couldn’t hold back a huge grin – and for him it was enough. For now, at least.

“We weren’t expecting you to join us”, Lúcio said, his dreadlocks kind of ruffled. “You’re an early bird, usually”.

“Yeah mate, but don’t blame me – a good night of sleep is a rarity”. He stretched and sat down beside Genji, whose cheeks were puffed with toast and hair spiky.

“Mph”, he said, and Zenyatta chuckled in his tea. After he’d managed to swallow, Genji coughed and punched his own chest. “I mean – you’re looking good for being still caffeine-free”.

“Doin’ my best, and speakin’ of coffee…” He tried to stand up, but Hanzo prevented him. With a loud screech of metal on concrete he pushed his chair back and turned to the coffee maker; such a spontaneous gesture made several eyebrows raise in surprise, but nothing compared to what happened next.

McCree was still giggling inside and thoroughly checking out Hanzo’s ass as he bent over the counter when he turned around with a steaming mug in hand. Serious and with just a hint of red on the tip of his ears he walked around the table and stopped by Genji.

“I’m going to sit there”, he deadpanned. His brother ogled and scrunched his nose.

“… I’m sorry?”

Hanzo rolled his eyes and kicked Genji’s chair.

“You heard me. Move to Zen’s right and leave me this seat”.

“But why?”, and McCree wanted to reassure his friend that it was ok, Hanzo wasn’t crazy and so on, but had he opened his mouth he would have laughed hard enough to make the whole base shake.

“Eldest brother’s privilege. Come on”, and he pushed the chair with his foot. The blush was invading his face, and Zenyatta snorted with amusement as he stood up, moving one seat to his side.

“He wants to sit with McCree, don’t interfere, love…”

“He… he…” Genji looked at Hanzo, then at McCree, then at Lúcio as if looking for an ally, and then at McCree again. “ _Seriously_?”

“Genji, if you don’t want me to pour hot coffee on your head just…”

“At last!” Lúcio clapped his gloved hands and threw his head back in delight. “Now Lena will have to do the dishes for a month, I was right!”

“… now wait, are you two… really… when…”

“Genji, dude, if you don’t want me to cuddle you instead of your brother I suggest you do as he asked”, said McCree, grinning from ear to ear. Eventually, Genji, still in shock, shifted to the left without taking his eyes off Hanzo, who slowly sat down and slid the mug in front of McCree.

“But when did…”

“I can't understand why you're acting so surprised. Mind your own business, brother”, hissed Hanzo, but his anger was just a mask to his embarrassment. He stubbornly took McCree’s hand under the table and stuffed his mouth with more cookies.

“Thank you, babe”, was all McCree could say. He leaned forward and brushed Hanzo’s cheek with a chaste kiss that smelled of chocolate.

For a while, the whole group buzzed with questions and laughter, and McCree squeezed Hanzo’s hand while sipping his coffee.

No hiding, he’d said, and he’d meant it entirely. Oh, there was going to be some talking, and not just the shocked questions Genji insisted on asking Zenyatta, who was as smug as a cat who got the cream; McCree expected some lecture by Jack and was ready to defend his life choices, but right now all that mattered was Hanzo brushing crumbles from his shirt and running his thumb on the back of his hand.

With a satisfied sigh, he stretched and let out another yawn, deaf to anything but his own happiness.

A shared one, if Hanzo’s smile was to be considered.

“Fine then! Zen knew, Lúcio and Lena knew, and I’m the only one who still thought you only had a crush on McCree!” Genji blurted out, opening his arms. “Why am I always the last one to know things?”

“Oh, please, just because I don’t go around flaunting my… my interests”, Hanzo rolled his eyes again and pouted, “it doesn’t mean I’m keeping secrets from you. Quite the opposite”.

“But you could have told me!”

“I have now”.

“But I…”

Even this was precious – affectionate bickering, light-hearted jokes that brought back that long-lost feeling of family he thought forsaken. McCree couldn’t believe his own luck: for the second time in his life he got a chance to belong, and he would never run away again. Not now that Hanzo was the compass showing him the way.

A good day. A good new life.

If only good things were destined to last…

Genji was still in the middle of a rant about how having two of his favorite people – be it out of blood or of choice – dating was the kind of thing that turned his day upside down, McCree tensed.

It was nothing, probably, just a door banging in the distance, but to his oversensitive ears something sounded off. He frowned and slowly lowered his mug, turning to the door and tightening his grip on Hanzo’s hand.

“Jesse?”

A whisper, almost drowned by their friends’ chattering. McCree shook his head once and squinted; for some reasons, the hair on the back of his neck stood up, an instinctive reaction to impending danger.

“Jesse, what’s happening?” Hanzo’s voice rose above the buzzing, and a trail of concern veined it thickly.

“Someone’s comin’”, he said, nostrils flaring as he sniffed the air.

“I hope it’s Lena, I’ve got a debt to collect”, Lúcio said with a grin, but his smile dropped the moment he saw McCree’s expression.

“It’s her, and…”

It was nothing but a suspect, a wrong note played in a familiar melody. McCree got to his feet, slipping out of Hanzo’s grip, and slowly the mood in the kitchen froze.

Copper. A crimson hue painting the world, faint but unmistakable. He bared his teeth, fangs growing against his lips, and his voice came out in a growl.

“Blood”, he whispered. He came back to his senses as if waking from a dream – from a nightmare. He pushed the chair back and it crashed on the ground, but he didn’t stop him from jumping over it and run to the door. “She’s hurt”.

In the blink of an eye, all the good humor and laziness were gone. He darted down the corridor and in a second Hanzo was by his side, the others following close. Lúcio jumped on the wall, bounced on the ceiling and landed in front of him, speeding in a black and green blaze under the flickering neon lights.

McCree’s head was blank. It was often so when his nerves snapped and left room for his mutation, but he had to keep himself together.

The more they ran, the stronger the smell became, and soon all he could think of was blood – warm and sticky and so red on freckled skin. Soon, a small sound seeped through their footsteps. A whine, panting and broken.

She was still alive, a slumped shape trembling against the doorframe.

“Oh no – Lena…” With a leap, Lúcio covered the last feet that separated him from her and slid on his knees.

Too much blood, pouring black under the neon through Lena’s shaking fingers, clasped on her abdomen. McCree stopped dead as the others hurried around the girl, unable to move.

Everything – the smell, Lúcio’s panicked voice, Lena’s huge, vacant eyes running through their faces – was an assault on his senses.

“… we’re here, it’s gonna be ok, can you hear me? Just stay with me – no no, eyes open, Genji press there, right on her side – press hard, alright?”

“They…”

Lena’s voice was feeble, her lips grey. She squirmed and grabbed Lúcio’s arm before sliding backward.

“Don’t move, Lena, I’m here… let us carry you to…”

“A-Angela. They got Angela”, she whispered. Her eyes fluttered closed and only a white strip remained visible under her thick lashes.

“They _what_?” Hanzo pressed on, color leaving his face, but Lena couldn’t answer.

McCree felt acid invade his throat. As the others ran away – Lúcio gestured to Hanzo to help him lift Lena, while Genji kept his unsteady hands on the terrible wound on her stomach – he couldn’t move. No one spared him a look, and Hanzo calling for Jack and Winston in a hoarse cry seemed to come from a great distance.

Angela.

They got Angela, whoever _they_ were. His legs felt wobbly as he staggered and held out his metal hand to the wall.

In his head men dressed in black dragged her away. Pictures of Genji’s scars, of Amélie’s blank stare filled his brain, and his fingers clenched on the concrete. The wall crumbled in his fist, and it would have been easy, so easy to let go of everything and let the wild creature inside him take over.

They hurt Lena. They took Angela away.

Oh, but he knew who the culprit was. Another victim of the Registration Act, and once more it struck his own family.

His fingers dug deeper into the wall, but his whole body was paralyzed with horror. Eyes wide, he stared at the crimson pool where Lena used to be. Someone, deep into the heart of Overwatch, was screaming, giving orders, asking things.

He couldn’t move.

_They need me._

But every single one of his muscles refused to cooperate. He shook and his teeth chattered as a gaping void of darkness opened in front of him.

Losing it all – again. First Gabe, then his months alone, and finally a glimmer of hope.

They took it from him. How could he hope there was a chance of happiness for him?

Everything good he’d felt in the last few days turned to ashes in his mouth. Trembling and growling softly he doubled over and punched the wall, turning the long scratched he’d left there into an actual hole.

Lena was dying somewhere in the base and he was stuck here, living nightmares of death and loneliness all over again. Self-loathing added up to his legitimate trauma and he fell to his knees, wrapping his arms around his torso.

Thinking hurt. Everything hurt. And all he wanted was to stop hurting – in the only way he knew.

 

 

The next few hours were a blur of sensations, dominated by the taste and smell of alcohol. This time it worked – after resisting its call for months, too busy being alive and putting his life back together, that one bottle and a half of scotch had found its way to his lips.

McCree knew he had to worry for Angela, to ask how Lena was doing, since for all he knew Lúcio was still trying to keep her bowels inside her abdomen; he knew he had to feel ashamed of himself, of his fall and how he was withdrawing from the emergency at hand. But right now, all he could feel was a blessed confusion.

As long as the effects of booze persisted, he could forget he was alone in one of the nameless corridors in the base, or ignore how his steps faltered under the pale lights. Hands tingling, head heavy, he had no idea where he was going, nor he cared.

A husky chuckle bubbled on his lips, dark and devoid of any trace of happiness.

Jesse McCree, a mutant, a monster, a terrible friend and an even worse agent, now staggering around the base piss drunk and oblivious of two of his friends’ fate.

_Good job, McCree. Yer doin’ great._

His bitter laugh twisted into a raucous sob. Hair falling on his sweaty forehead, clothes reeking of alcohol – he was embarrassing.

_At least Hanzo doesn’t have to see me like this._

Worst thought ever. Hanzo’s face blinked in his memory, serious dark eyes and mouth pressed in a contemptuous line – had he found him right now, he would have despised him.

And this was the last straw. McCree tripped over his feet and stumbled against the wall, hitting it with his shoulder. In vain he tried to hold himself upright with hands too weak to get a grip on the wall, so he slowly sunk to his knees and fell sitting, aching in his whole body.

Hanzo – his beautiful, struggling man still recovering from a lifetime of denial and abuse – was somewhere doing something useful to help Overwatch. On the other hand, he was just here, full of drinks and disgust for himself.

A dry sob shook his chest and he awkwardly turned around, leaning his back against the wall. His head fell to his hands and he pressed the heel of his palms to his eyes until a constellation of colorful dots exploded behind his closed lids.

_I’m a coward. I’m a mess._

For a second he thought he could cry, but dizziness made his inner darkness twirl until it was swallowing him.

Dulled by the alcohol, his senses didn’t work as they were supposed to. His heartbeat and heavy breathing covered the small sounds around him, almost drowning the light echo of footsteps.

McCree could have chuckled again at the thought of Jack or Genji finding him in such a miserable state, but reality was even worse than that.

“Jesse?”

Hanzo’s voice pierced the veil suffocating him. McCree blinked and looked up, only seeing a blurred dark shape walking toward him. His doubled vision settled enough to show him how pale Hanzo was, how big those eyes scanning his face were; when he knelt before him, McCree grinned, barely able to keep his head up.

“There you are, p-pretty one. ‘m afraid all the booze’s gone, my bad”. His words slurred into a slobber, and when he tried to take Hanzo’s hand he missed and slapped the floor instead.

A foreign curse hissed through Hanzo’s teeth as he took McCree’s face in his hands, forcing it up to scan his eyes. Drunkenness alone couldn’t justify how hard it was to bear the look Hanzo gave him, and McCree turned his face away – or so he tried.

“What have you… no, nevermind, it’s rather clear. I’ve been looking for you for almost two hours, I was so scared…”

“Ain’t goin’ anywhere”, he grunted. “’t would be better for anyone, tho”.

“What are you doing here? Were you… were you looking for me? Oh, shit, Jesse, I thought you were gone…”

 _Here_. Here… where?

McCree was a big man, but Hanzo was strong enough to slide his arm under his shoulders and grab his wrist to lift him up.

A practical, sensible contact that held no trace of malice – something McCree’s intoxicated brain couldn’t understand. He swayed and Hanzo had to tighten his grip on him not to fall, cursing under his breath.

“I like you, darlin’, did ya know it?”

“Shut up now and try not to drag me down. Lucky for you we’re near my room…”

McCree snickered and patted Hanzo’s shoulder. How warm he was, real and alive and not lost, not yet…

“My legs are workin’ better than my head it… it seems”, he croaked. “’tis where I wanna be – with you”.

“Fuck, you are beyond drunk… stop fiddling with my wing now, come on! And stay still for a second, for fuck’s sake!”

Hanzo dragged McCree for the short path to his room and kicked the door open. McCree blacked out for a moment, since he didn’t realize they were in, or that Hanzo had turned the lights on; he came back to his senses when his back met the bouncy surface of a mattress, its soft creaking counterpointing Hanzo’s grunt.

“Here. Now stay still, I go get some water…”

“Nope”, he replied, clumsily rolling to his side to extend an arm and aim for Hanzo’s wrist. Again, he missed, but on his second attempt, he managed to close his fist around the other’s hand and pull him closer. “Just… stay with me. For a while”.

The flame of scotch inside him was slowly dying, and the blessed confusion giving way to a crawling despair. Hanzo frowned and knelt on the edge of the bed, and with a sigh that made his broad shoulders slump he reached forward and brushed the damp hair from McCree’s forehead.

“Alright, I’m here. We… we’ll have time to discuss this once you’re sober, but I don’t want you to be alone right now”. He squeezed himself at his side and sighed, looking tired and older than he was.

Words got stuck on McCree’s tongue. He could only stare, eyes half closed and lips shaking lightly, and the best part of numbness faded away. He wanted to ask, to know, but couldn’t form a single coherent sentence, so he just shook his head.

But this was Hanzo, and he had a special gateway to his soul.

He _knew_.

With another deep sigh, he settled himself on the pillow and swallowed hard.

“Lena is alive. For now, at least… Lúcio and Zen are watching over her, and if she lives through the night she’ll probably be alright. She… lost a lot of blood”. He closed his eyes for a moment, and when he spoke again there was a vibration in his tone. “And Jack’s gone to search for Angela. Alone”.

A rough moan crawled out of McCree’s lips, and he didn’t even try to hold it back. So this was it, one of his oldest friends probably furious with grief and fear, out there to find a lost companion on his own. It was as if something heavy and burning was crushing his chest, and he wished he could drink again, more and more until his brain would shut up. He covered his face with his forearm and gritted his teeth.

“Hey”, a soft whisper, a tired caress on his shoulder. McCree would have reacted to something so sweet and gentle some hours ago, but now he just couldn’t bring himself to open his eyes. Because out there was the real world, and it dripped blood.

“It’s not your fault. I know what you’re thinking, and I know how seductive guilt can be – but you’re needed here. Don’t… don’t leave me, ok?”

A sob burst from his lungs and crashed against the knot of anguish in his throat. Hanzo was still caressing him, slowly, fingers light as feathers, and eventually something inside him melted. McCree let his arm slid from his face and bit hi slip until he was sure it was not going to tremble, and only then he cast a quick gaze at Hanzo.

“I…”

The whole room was spinning around him, but those serious eyes kept him still.

“I’m sorry”, he muttered, and no, he was not going to cry his eyes out like some teen at his first hangover. Then why was his voice so shaky?

Hanzo didn’t smile. His cold hand went to McCree’s cheek and stood there, solid and reassuring.

“Don’t be. It’s _not_ your fault, and all we can do now is wait…”

“I disappointed you. And everyone. Why would y’all still be with me?”

Hanzo opened his mouth without making a sound, and when he looked away from McCree his face was not as pale anymore.

“You’re worth it”, he just said after a while. He took a deep breath and stooped over McCree, brushing his lips with the lightest of kisses. “I’ve told you already”.

Hanzo was so near, lashes intertwined with McCree’s, hair spilling around his face – and McCree lost it. His hand grabbed the other’s chin and he pulled him down again, beyond any reasonable form of control, spurred by a crude need fueled by his drunken state. He crushed his lips on Hanzo’s, and his tongue didn’t ask or wait, eager and desperate.

After a second of mere surprise, with his eyes wide and arms tensing, Hanzo reacted. He melted against him, opening his mouth for him and exhaling a quiet moan that made McCree shiver with lust.

Lust and nothing more, hands trembling and fumbling on Hanzo’s body, pulling and groping until he was laying on top of him.

He couldn’t stop. The more Hanzo kissed him back, the more that sudden frenzy in his blood set his nerves on fire. And it was wrong, he knew it, it was not like he dreamed it to be, but he was past the point of caring. He grabbed Hanzo’s ass and arched up against him, groaning when thick thighs pressed against his hips.

He slid his fingertips under the waistband and pulled Hanzo’s pants down, and now his head spun for some more reasons than being drunk – soft skin and hard muscles twitching under his touch, a slow pulse rising steadily from his cock, and fuck, he wanted him so bad, he _needed_ him now.

But as his fingers spread Hanzo’s ass, grinding wildly against him, something felt off.

“No – Jesse, wait…” Hanzo panted on his mouth, breaking from the kiss with his hands still clutching his shirt. McCree grunted and tried to kiss him again, but Hanzo pushed him gently back and shook his head once. “I can’t…”

“But I do”, McCree tried to joke. He sounded pathetic.

“I know. And I know I want you”, Hanzo whispered, running his fingers up McCree’s neck until he was cupping his jaw. “And also that it won’t happen like this”. He slowly slid to his side and curled against McCree.

“Is it ‘cause I’m drunk?”

“Exactly. You’re drunk and desperate, and I won’t take advantage of you like this – I won’t be something you regret”.

McCree felt tears swell in his eyes again as Hanzo wrapped his arms around him.  
  
“D’ya really think I could regret…”

“No, but we can wait”. He kissed his forehead and held him against his chest, carding his fingers through his hair.

McCree didn’t know when it happened, but he felt his cheeks wet, his breath coming out in ragged little sobs. He threw his arms around Hanzo and buried his face in the crook of his neck, weeping in silence until his tears made the fabric under his face damp.

He cried for the first time in ages – and for the first time in years he let someone comfort him. Hanzo’s hands were warm and reassuring on him, his voice a quiet flow of little nothings whispered in his ear. And when he ran out of tears, he just stood there, dizzy and exhausted, his legs tangled with Hanzo’s. He sniffed and gulped, and his whole body felt too heavy to move.

As his eyes fluttered closed, Hanzo pulled the covers over them both and scooped him closer, taking his hands and leaning his head on his shoulder.

“We will fight. But we won’t do it alone”, was the last thing he heard before confusion and despair turned to sleep.

During the day, nightmares came.

Hanzo kissed them away.

 

 

McCree woke up to a thundering headache and confused mind. He squeezed his eyes and stretched his legs, nose full of a familiar and yet unexpected scent.

Where the fuck am I?  
  
Crumpled sheets slipped from his legs when he kicked weakly, and when he opened his eyes he didn’t recognize the black shapes around him in the near darkness.

With the slow awakening came the sudden realization that he was alone.

Hanzo was gone, and when McCree pressed his face to the pillow the smell of the other’s hair punched him in the face.

Gone. And it came as no surprise, considering his poor show the night – or day? Impossible to tell the time here, underground – before. But as he stretched, something fluff slumped on his feet.

He was not at his best, and more details floated to the surface of his consciousness. He had to get up and get ready to fight, and it was confusing enough on its own; doing it in the darkness didn’t help. With clumsy movements that made nausea worse, he rolled around and slapped the night table, eventually finding the switch there. The sudden blaze of light turned his headache into a beating hammer, but when he sat up rubbing his face he saw something he didn’t expect.

That soft thing by his feet was a towel, and on top of it lay a toothbrush still wrapped in plastic.

McCree felt a giant bubble of emotions swell in his heart.

Hanzo was gone, but not gone at all. And Overwatch needed McCree at his best – something Hanzo was determined to achieve.

 _Darlin’, yer a gift to this ridiculous fool of a mutant_ , he said to himself, throwing the covers back and getting to his feet. The hangover was still awful, but now he could very well ignore it as he had done so many times before; as he walked to the small bathroom, a fierce anger burned inside him.

_We’re getting Angela back, and I’m gonna be part of this mission._

 

 

˜˜˜˜˜

 

 

Somewhere above the base, the sun was setting. Even if he couldn’t see it, Hanzo felt it in his blood as he quietly closed the door of the med bay behind him.

It was early, and yet he was worn out by the horrible day.

There was little news of Jack, apart from a couple of quick, nervous remote communications that reassured the whole team that he was fine. They hadn’t been enough to lift the gloom from the group, since not even once he mentioned anything useful about Angela’s whereabouts, let alone her conditions.

Hanzo walked down the corridor, glad of the stale air that cleaned his nose from the chemicals of Lena’s room. She was still alive, and an exhausted Lúcio had dared to admit that maybe – a very careful, shaky maybe – Lena was going to make it through the night. The young man had been a pale shade of green, his big eyes underlined by dark circles, and everyone was too busy doing their best to be useful to worry about McCree. Hanzo’s reassurance that he was still in the base and soon would join them had been enough, for the moment.

He sighed and put his hand on the wall. His wings seemed an unbearable burden right now, as were all the implications of the current situation.

For hours he’d been too busy checking maps and scanning his memory for any useful bit of information he could gather to actually concern about the man now sleeping in his room; as the frenzy of the moment subsided, though, a whole new set of emotions twirled inside him.

Pushing McCree away had been shamefully difficult for him. His whole body had screamed to give in to their mutual desire, but his brain had been more honorable and led him to the right decision.

His ponytail was coming loose, and Hanzo tied his hair back with a sigh.

Not like this, he’d thought, and he was still sure it was for the best. But those hands wandering down his body, that big, hot mouth devouring him…

He gulped and shook his head.

 _I have more pressing matters at hand, and still this need haunts me_.

But as he resumed his walking to check on McCree, the simple truth deepened and gained definition, showing layers upon layers of hidden reasons. He tried to smother the feelings of loneliness and affection, the brutal need to find a safe place even now that their world was falling apart, but the more he pondered, the more his hands felt empty. Holding McCree had been so natural, like breathing or kissing him, and now that his arms were empty he felt stranded.

His door was ajar, and he forced himself to think that McCree was not there. Delusion would have hurt too much.

The lights were on, and a small part of him leaped in anticipation.

_No, why should you hope? You all have more important things in your hand. Don’t be such a fool._

Setting his jaws to a stubborn angle he pushed the door, and immediately bit his lip as he saw a tall shadow leaving the bathroom.

“Hey there, pumpkin…” McCree rubbed a towel in his damp hair and tried to smile, but his eyes went to the floor, as if he couldn’t look at Hanzo.

With a sigh of childish relief, Hanzo closed the door behind him and swallowed. How was it possible that even now, with all they were being through, the sight of McCree’s shirt clinging to his thick frame after the shower could make his lowest instincts stir this way?

“I hoped you’d still be asleep, I didn’t want you to think I abandoned you”. His words sounded ridiculous in his own ears, and he wanted to look away. Unfortunately, McCree’s hair was still dripping wet, and a trickle of water ran down his neck and into his shirt; Hanzo followed the droplet with a wave of shameful attention.

This time, when McCree lifted his face, his smile was tired but sincere.

“You left me a toothbrush and prodded me to shower – that’s more than I deserved…”

“Oh, stop it”, he grumbled, striding to the bed and sitting with a snort. His eyes throbbed, and he pressed his hands to his face. After a second, the mattress bounced, signaling him that McCree had joined him.

“How’s Lena?”

“A bit more alive than six hours ago, I think. What I told you this morning is still true – but you probably don’t remember what…”

“If she lives through the night she’ll be fine. I remember… everything”, and his voice dropped to a mutter. Hanzo spied him between his fingers: a muscle twitching on his jaw, brows furrowed, a world of regrets in his deep gaze. He let his arms fall and took McCree’s hand, tangling their fingers together.

“I… I don’t know what was goin’ on in this wicked head of mine, I swear, and… and I’m sorry, I was rushed and everything but… I didn’t want to… to make you…”

“Jesse, it’s ok – I know. I’ve been in the same place and…”

“But you were right!” McCree turned abruptly to Hanzo, and his eyes sparkled. “And good. Too good for me…”

“How many times must we go through this pointless conversation?” he huffed, rolling his eyes. His determination faltered, and he couldn’t stand McCree’s gaze. “We needed it. But it was wrong”.

“And you kept us safe”. He brushed his metal fingers to Hanzo’s cheek, and something softened between them; Hanzo leaned into his caress and closed his eyes, glad to let the world out for a second.

When McCree winced, though, he sat upright and took in the other man’s pained expression.

“Oh, don’t worry yer pretty head, sugar”, he said, rubbing his eye with his fist. “I had it comin’. I’m not a kid anymore, and my head’s all too eager to remind me that. Some coffee and I’ll be ready to join the others in their…”

“There’s nothing to join yet. Winston is calling whoever will answer him to search for clues, and Jack is not back yet; Lena is asleep, and I doubt we’d be of much use at her bedside, so… come”, he said, moving to the side and patting his thigh. “Lay down here”.

McCree chuckled, his voice still husky, and did as he was asked.

“Seriously?”  
  
“You’re no use if your head hurts, so since all we have to do is wait let’s make it productive”.

Something so silly and affectionate felt weird, coming from him, and at the same time too good to let it go. He pressed his fingertips to the other’s temples and massaged slowly, eliciting a quiet awed moan from him.

“Damn…”

“Does it help?”

“Mhm…”

McCree relaxed in his lap and stared at him upside down, one hand sliding down the mattress to clasp on Hanzo’s leg. For a minute they stood like that, with McCree’s face going from congested with suffering and regret to an almost unbearable tenderness.

“Once Jack is back – and according to Winston it will be before night, or so he keeps telling everyone, himself included – we’ll work on a plan. And this time I want to be part of it”, he said softly, never ceasing to rub McCree’s temples.

“So ready t’risk yer life?”

“If you think I’d let those I love out there alone you’re sorely mistaken”, he snapped, voice way harsher than his gentle touch. McCree gasped under his breath and stared at him wide-eyed, until Hanzo felt his face burn.

None of them spoke for some time, until McCree ran his hand up Hanzo’s calf, grabbing his thigh.

“I know I was wasted, but I think I understand what I wanted”, he whispered. He threw his other arm behind him and pulled Hanzo forward, so close they were almost kissing.

“… it was rather clear”, Hanzo said, and for all his efforts he couldn’t sound as light-hearted as he wished. His hair fell around their faces, locking everything that wasn’t them outside.

McCree was serious as he moved to accommodate Hanzo on the bed with him, something Hanzo did holding his breath. It was intimate – just intimate, laying there barely touching, one big hand resting on his waist and those amber eyes deep and enticing.

“I wanted somethin’ pure. Somethin’ I could hold on to while the Armageddon clashes upon us. Only”, and he leaned closer, his lips a breath away from Hanzo’s, “I fucked things up. I always do”.

“Oh, Jesse…” Hanzo could have cried. McCree was so open and sincere it made his heart ache, and the few inches separating them were a torture. Just like he did when McCree had appeared in front of his room, hours before that felt like a lifetime ago, he wrapped him in a desperate embrace and pushed his head until it rested on his shoulder.

“No, no you didn’t”, he breathed in his ear, kissing his cheek. And then his jaw. His throat, were a low, steady pulse beat under his skin. And up again, until their lips met.

McCree moaned against his mouth and his hands went to Hanzo’s face, metal and flesh strong on his skin.

In the silence, only their small, slick sounds resounded, and Hanzo got lost in the sensation of soft beard tickling his face and that gorgeous body heating him. He lapped at McCree’s lower lip and deepened the kiss, perching himself on his elbow to bow over him.

They were standing on the edge of a disaster, and for this brief, blessed moment all Hanzo cared for was the tongue caressing his own, the hands riding down his shoulders and arms and stomach. The contact of calloused palms on soft skin was addictive, it filled every crack of his being and urged him for more.

There was going to be a time to think, but not now. He climbed on top of McCree, shivering when he opened his legs to accommodate him. McCree’s skin was hot under his palms, and Hanzo found no resistance when he rolled his shirt up his chest, tugging until it slipped over his head. Only then, and only briefly, they stopped kissing, a flash in time that carved McCree’s form in his brain forever. He too frantically took his t-shirt off and tossed it aside, not minding where it landed; the next embrace, skin on skin as tension balanced itself on a blade’s edge, erased any last doubt he could have had. This time he didn’t protest when McCree rolled his pants down, on the contrary, Hanzo helped him and kicked until he was free – and yet it was not enough. Panting, he hunched over McCree and sunk his teeth in the exposed throat, drinking in the needy sound the other made and grinding on, hands learning every curve and edge of the body unraveling under him.

McCree lifted his hips and fumbled with his belt, and Hanzo nearly tore his pants from him in the fever that guided them both. Nothing between them anymore, just that heady friction that he wanted to ride until the very end, and as his cock lay side by side with McCree he let out a groan on his lips.

Hadn’t he been so into their desperate movements, he could have noticed – and cared – when McCree writhed and leaned a bit to the side; still, when a cold metal grip closed on the nape of his neck, he couldn’t ignore the pop of a lid, and even less the slick hand that took his own, guiding it down.

Hanzo stopped dead and stared at McCree, all too aware his face was at least as flushed.

McCree was beyond beautiful, and just staring at him made his heart clench with a blend of tenderness and lust. His lips were swollen, slick with kisses and parted to show a hint of white teeth, the tip of his tongue darting through them, and his eyes – those Hanzo would have happily drowned into. There was a world in them, all for him to take.

With a gulp that made his Adam’s apple bob on his throat, McCree slipped Hanzo’s hand over his stomach. Just brushing his erection made Hanzo bite his lip in anticipation, but McCree guided him further down, and at this, his eyes shot open.

“Hanzo…”

So much longing in a single word, little more than a sigh trembling against his lips. Hanzo swallowed hard and let McCree show him the way. For a moment he just hovered, fingertips barely touching the exposed ring of muscle there.

“Darlin’…”

 _Are you sure_? He wanted to ask, more to reassure himself than else – because the way McCree breathed heavily under him, or how he pushed his hips forward to meet his touch spoke volume of his current necessities. Hanzo moved his wrist, a too gentle touch against the hole tempting him. He snarled and kissed him again, muffling the passionate sound that fell from McCree’s lips with his tongue as he pressed gently.

One finger slid inside him effortlessly, gliding to the knuckle with a slick sound. Hanzo checked on McCree, to make sure he was ok – and alright, if he recalled correctly that face meant he was something _better_ than ok. He tried with a second finger, palming at the mattress until he found the bottle of lube; he poured too much on his hand and he didn’t care one bit, because when he breached in again McCree made the most perfect sound he’d ever heard. Not a moan, not a whine, a wild, choking sound that sent a shiver up his spine and drew a drop of precum from his cock.

McCree sunk his hand in Hanzo’s hair, and when Hanzo slowly, tentatively bent his fingers inside him his fist clenched on his scalp.

“Fuck…”

Some other time Hanzo would have tried some witty retort, but now words failed him. He stretched McCree open with slow, meticulous thrusts of his hand, finding and teasing that spot inside him that made the other man spread his legs and push frantically to get more.

Hanzo pulled back from their kiss just to stare at him, to take in the soundless ‘please’ that formed on McCree’s lips.

A trail of precum sparkled from the head of McCree’s cock, descending to the dark fuzz under his navel; his own cock felt heavier with every small movement he made, grinding on McCree’s stomach and sending waves of pleasure under his skin.  
  
Discipline. For once, he thanked his long years of training.

McCree grabbed handfuls of sheets and turned his face on the pillow, arching up under Hanzo’s unrelenting touch.

How perfect he was, how precious the sound he made were…

 _In a better world, I would love you_ , but the vague inaccuracy in his statement was not something he wanted to think about.

A trembling grip of steel closed on his wrist, and Hanzo stopped immediately. There was fire in McCree’s eyes, fire and tears, and Hanzo didn’t need a better world to let it burn him. He nodded quickly but didn’t slip out, savoring the clenching of muscles around his fingers while he searched the bed for – _that_. He picked the condom with shaky fingers and ripped the plastic open with his teeth; McCree sat up with a gorgeous rippling of his abs and pulled Hanzo’s hair, bending his head to the side and sinking his teeth into his throat. Hard.

Teeth. Fangs, when needed, and Hanzo almost missed when he tried to roll on his condom at the thought of how dangerous and wild McCree’s other form was. Not that he got much time to indulge in such fantasies, because more lube coated his dick, and he simply let McCree take the lead. He panted and moaned quietly when those metal fingers wrapped around him and directed him, and a small gasp escaped him when, after a tentative push, the tip slipped in.

McCree fell on the pillow, teeth sinking into his lower lip, and breathed hard through his nose, and Hanzo followed his movement to seek for his mouth again. A languid kiss, all beating hearts and hidden words, and with the same slow rhythm, he started to move until he bottomed out.

He could’ve stayed like this forever, the tension blind-siding him a perfect torture he wanted to get lost in, but McCree lifted his hips in a clear demand.

And Hanzo gave him what they both needed. Not some mindless fucking, nor mere sex to blow some steam – this was the purest form of lovemaking he’d ever experienced, and he couldn’t stop caressing McCree, or kissing him, or cradling him into his arms.

His wings opened around them, quivering on his back with each deep thrust; when McCree threw his arms around his back and grabbed them to anchor himself, Hanzo groaned from the bottom of his throat from the surprise of how sensitive they were. He shifted on his knees and clenched his hands on McCree’s waist, and when he found the sensitive spot deep inside McCree he felt him tense and pant harder under him, a muffled word ringing in the scorching air between them.

“P-Please…”

_Oh, Jesse, you’re so beautiful, so perfect, I can’t believe I’m worthy of someone as precious as you… if only you could see yourself through my eyes…_

He wanted to speak those words, but he couldn’t. There was no place for words now, they didn’t need them because they were branded in fire in every breath they shared, in every surge of pleasure that bound them. Hanzo kept his forehead pressed against McCree and moved his hand from his hip, slithering it between them to wrap his fingers around McCree’s erection. When he ran his thumb on the head, spreading the precum beading there and pressing just under the crown, he was blessed with a long, harsh breath that ignited his pleasure. He moved his hand in tandem with every push, unable to take his eyes off McCree.

The more he sunk deep inside him, the brighter the flame inside him burned; now that everything in McCree was starting to break under his touch keeping in control was hard, agonizingly so, and even this was a delight he wanted to revel in as long as possible.

The cock in his fist throbbed and leaped, slick, hot, too much for his famed dignity. They both were panting hard, and keeping up that regular pace was becoming impossible – Hanzo wanted to pump faster and harder to make McCree scream his name.

But at the same time, it was not what he was chasing.

The choking sound McCree made threw his caution to the wind. Still looking at him with eyes unfocused and sparkling with tears of hunger, McCree tensed and kneaded the firm flesh of Hanzo’s ass, pushing him forward with an incoherent moan. The force of his orgasm took over him and he threw his head back on the pillow, and Hanzo snarled in awe at the sight of that wonderful man growling his name, with his throat flushed and his lips retracted on his teeth. He stroked him through his climax, hot thick trickles running down his hand and wrist, until the last of his own barriers fell.

Not an outburst, not the blinding light of a firework – his own orgasm came slowly, a steady wave of fire and electricity that invaded him and stripped him of everything but the perfect sensation of being joined into one. McCree was still clenching around him, his labored breath rasping in his throat, when Hanzo felt something inside him give way. He hunched over McCree and perched himself on one arm, trembling with tension, and when he came his eyes didn’t close. He burned and gasped for air until his chest seemed to explode, and he released himself with one, two last long thrusts that emptied his head of anything but _Jesse, Jesse_ Jesse _…_

McCree roused with a shiver and pulled him back down, kissing him with wild abandonment and holding him so close their hearts beat in sync. Hanzo happily let him pull in his arms, and a sweetness he’d never known before flooded him.

“Thank you”, McCree whispered against him, and Hanzo could have laughed. He poked him in the side and slid out of him, tying the condom and throwing it away.

“You’re very welcome”, he replied. It took them quite some effort to stand up and clean the mess, especially because now staying apart was even more of a suffering than before, but eventually, they could lay on the bed, properly dressed and holding hands.

“You saved me from a very dark place, sugarplum…”  
  
“I owed you this much”. _And something more_. He straightened his shoulder, curiously more focused now, and tilted his head to the side. In doing so, he caught a glimpse of the plastic wrap abandoned on the floor. “How did you know I had…”

McCree chuckled and picked Hanzo’s hand up for a quick kiss. When he spoke, his voice was a bit sad, though.

“Angela, probably; she keeps every room properly stocked. She… cares. ‘Bout our health, yeah, but mostly ‘bout our happiness”.

The mention of their lost friend dragged them back into the moment.

“What now?” asked Hanzo, tugging at McCree’s arm so that he leaned his head on his shoulder.

“So now we pick ourselves up and we go out there to kick some asses until we find the motherfucker who knows where Angie is”. McCree kissed his cheek and nodded. “If we can…”

A knock on the door, and they both froze. Another one, more urgent, made Hanzo jump to his feet; he wasn’t halfway to the door when Winston’s deep voice rumbled in the air.

“Hanzo – and Jesse, if, as I suspect, he’s in there with you – you two must come now. Jack’s on his way, and he wants to speak to us all”.


	12. Monster

 

[Monster](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1mjlM_RnsVE)

  


McCree hated silence. It meant loneliness, emptiness, the impending arrival of something bad. Letting his mouth run was his coping mechanism, but right now, standing as far from the bed as he could, he just couldn’t bring himself to speak.

The soft beeping from the machines made that unnerving stillness even more unbearable. Lena was a tiny, frail thing with white sheet pulled up to her neck, plastic tubes coming out of her slender arm, limp on the mattress. Under the crude white lights, only a ghost of her freckles was visible on her nose – she looked like a wax replica of her true self, and McCree didn’t want to look at her. If only he could have averted his eyes…

What remained of Overwatch was gathered around her. Winston kept on wiping his glasses on his cardigan, and the hair on the back of his neck stood up , while Lúcio sat on a plastic chair, dreadlocks falling loose around his pale green, exhausted face.

“She’s stable. It’s the best I could do… I’m not Angela”, he whispered, and his voice cracked. Zenyatta walked to put a long hand on his shoulder, squeezing it gently.

“Our best is all we can do”.

Lúcio looked up at him with eyes wide and shining with tears.

“And what if it’s not enough?”

Zenyatta sighed and smiled sadly.

“It has to be. It _will_ be, my friend”.

Genji was sitting on the floor by the opposite wall, head hidden in his crossed arms. McCree gulped – both out of guilt and sudden longing – when Hanzo brushed the back of his hand with his fingers, walking past him and reaching his brother. Without a word he sat at Genji’s side, pulling him close until he rested his head on his shoulder.

_Our best. That ain’t what I did – I was this close to running away again, and you were the one who kept me here, Hanzo. You’re so important for all of us…_

He needed to take a step forward, to offer his comfort to his distressed friends, but his feet were stuck to the linoleum floor. He needed action, someone to shot or punch or bite – he needed to feel useful, not the pathetic wreck of a creature he was now.

Winston roused with a deep shiver and looked around the room.

“Lúcio, I think I’m speaking for all of us when I say that we are grateful for your efforts. You saved Lena’s life…”

“… for now”, he replied under his breath. Winston shot him an austere look and insisted.

“You did save her, and we’re proud of you. Angela would be, too, and I’ll make sure she knows what you did when she comes back. Yes, she _will_ be back, I won’t tolerate any other outcome”, he snapped when Genji opened his mouth to speak, a furious, pained expression on his face. Hanzo nodded, and when his brother looked at him, as if expecting some kind of reassurance, he almost smiled.

Winston took a long breath and his huge shoulders slumped.

“Hope is all we’ve got right now, at least until Jack returns to the base with news. Which should happen soon, last I checked on him he said…”

His voice slurred in the back of McCree’s mind. How could Winston hope, when a young, good girl like Lena lay like a broken doll in a bed too big for her, when Angela, the most selfless person he’d ever met was prisoner of the worst brand of assholes he could think of? Hanzo’s heart and body had kept him from drifting away into despair, and now anger added up to the pile. He clenched his fists and turned his face away, stifling a growl against the fangs he felt prickling in his mouth.

Then, out of nowhere, a distant buzz resonated under the soft chattering. He squinted and stood up from the doorframe, tilting his head to the side and flicking his ears.

Footsteps, limping but fast, heavy.

“Jack’s here”, he said, interrupting Winston mid-sentence.

A brand new kind of silence fell upon the team, and even the machines seemed to hush their beeping, waiting.

Hanzo perched himself on Genji’s shoulder and stood up, followed shortly after by his brother.

“Ah, good! I hope he has some… news. Not good ones, I’m not that naive, but news would be helpful”. Winston’s voice was louder than before, and McCree saw how the prospect of action eased some of his tension. He pulled his glass up on his nose and rubbed his hands together. “Lúcio, do you think you can leave Lena for a moment? I’m sure you’ll want to hear what…”

“No”, he replied immediately. “I’m not coming. My place’s here”, and he got up, standing upright by the bed. McCree smiled despite himself: so young, so determined – people like Lúcio were made to change the world, and he was proud of his companions.

_And I must be someone they can rely on._

He stepped from the door and cracked a smile, ruffling the hair on the back of his neck.

“Yeah, I think yer right, Lúcio. Stay here, we’ll brief you later: I’m not a medical guy, but I doubt having a full meeting by Lena’s bed will be good for her health”.

Better. He knew he sounded like a fool, but some of the burden on his chest disappeared, and Hanzo gave him his serious, deep look – he understood, and McCree loved him for this.

“Now out, all of you. McCree’s got a point, don’t stress my patient out”. Lúcio recovered some of his energy and shooed them all with a smile. One by one, they all left, and only Zenyatta stood back.

“I can help you, if you need. Do you mind if I stay?”

As Hanzo stopped at McCree’s side, unabashedly taking his hand in a firm grip, Genji let out a heartfelt sigh. Lúcio was clapping Zenyatta’s shoulder, and Genji went back to them to place a light kiss on his boyfriend’s lips.

McCree tried not to listen, but their whisper was very loud in his ears.

“You’re an amazing man and I love you so much”, and he’d never felt such a tenderness in Genji’s voice.

He blushed a bit, and then some more when he looked down at Hanzo. That same warm light burned on his beloved face, and he found it lit something inside him.

Hope, Winston had said. And he was determined not to let that sparkle die.

By the time they were all out of the med bay, and Genji had to push his brother and McCree out of the way with an affectionate grumbling, Jack appeared at the end of the corridor.

“You. Meeting, now”, he growled, and McCree felt fear spring up inside him again. He squeezed Hanzo’s hand and took in the soldier’s appearance – unharmed, and yet his pacing was heavy and uneven.

As he sniffed the air, he smelled no blood, except for the faint trace still coming from Lena’s room.

Jack bore his frowned stare, and while Winston and Genji slid past him, his cold blue eyes shot down to their conjoined hands. McCree was ready to fight, even if the definite wave of heat creeping up from his neck was not something he was proud of, and even readier to let go of Hanzo’s hand, had he perceived a single hint of embarrassment on his side. But the long fingers around his palm clenched even harder, almost hurting him, and Hanzo held his head high. His eyes met Jack’s, narrowed in a furious challenge, and eventually it was Jack who shook his head and sighed.

McCree felt some of the tension leave his back and followed Hanzo to the nearest empty room. Pride and – dared he call things by their rightful name? – love made his heart ache, but he was ready to defend his life choices with every part of his being.

There were not enough chairs for the five of them, but Jack didn’t look like he wanted to sit or stay still even for a moment. Winston closed the door behind them and yet another different silence filled the small room.

The screens on the wall were covered in dust, the cabinet in the corner had a rusty locket. McCree sat between Hanzo and Genji and held his breath.

The silence of waiting. Of dead, old things coming back to life.

Of hopes crashing down around them.

Jack took a huge gun from his belt and slammed it on the table, but when he ran a gloved hand down his face he looked tired, and not just from his patrol.

“I… I have nothing”, he admitted, a rumbling whisper wrenched from the bottom of his soul. McCree stifled a surge of compassion for the man, more lonesome than any of them.

“I searched the slums and inspected the place where Angela’d last been seen, but found little more than what we already know from Lena’s words”.

“What did she say?” McCree asked. He’d missed the whole briefing, too drunk to be of any use, and so he could’ve very well missed Lena’s last words. Suddenly, the idea of drinking ever again made him want to throw up.

“She gave their location and spoke about men in black”, Winston said, perching himself on the last free chair. His hazel eyes went to the Shimada brothers, clear and inquisitive. “You two know what I’m thinking about”.

Hanzo went pale, but exchanged a quick look with his brother, unflinching. A second, even less, that held their story – betrayal, mistakes and second chances. Genji nodded lightly and looked back at Winston, so serious the resemblance with Hanzo was striking.

“I smell federals, or whatever those bastards were…”

“The Registration Act is in the way again. And this time I want to do my part”. Hanzo clenched his fists on the table, a black strand slipping from his hair tie and falling in front of his eyes. “Did you speak with the homeless people there, Jack?”

“I did. And they confirmed Lena’s story… not that I needed it”, he muttered.

Apparently, a black van had been following Angela and Lena for one hour unnoticed, and Lena’s time control powers had little effect on the dozen of people that had spilled from its back.

“They fought. Lena, especially, and old Tobias – you know him, Jesse, the grey-haired guy with horns – said she took two of them down before they shot her”. Jack trembled as he pulled his hair, rage and frustration making him even paler. “Smart girl… she managed to run away to warn us, or they would have gotten her, too”.

“You said the black van had been on their tails for one hour, did I hear correctly?” Winston inquired, calm and practical. Jack mumbled his assent, and the blue mutant joined his fingers in a peak in front of his nose. “So they were following our girls, but they had no idea where they were coming from. They would have assaulted the base, otherwise”.

This seemed to reassure Genji somehow, and he slowly breathed out, but Jack shook his head.

“True, but Angela’s still missing, and we’re in danger”.

“We must find out where she’s been taken. I can only imagine how precious her gift would be for the secret ops people in the government”. Winston got to his feet and walked around the table, passing behind Jack until he stopped by the monitors. He blew on the screens and touched the nearest one; it flickered and shone blue for a moment, then a map of the world flashed in the dim lit room.

“Alright, team, one thing at a time. Jack, we must contact our foreign units and gather all the information we can. Even the most trivial bits could prove vital…”

Jack banged his open hand on the table, and Winston jumped, turning to stare at him with his eyes wide.

“Are you suggesting we waste more time? It’s Angela we’re talking about! I won’t lose another agent like this, not on my watch!”

“Jack, my dear friend, I know you’re upset, we all are, but…”

“Then come out with me, and to hell with secrecy! We’ll squeeze San Angeles for every clue we can find, I want Angela back. _Now_ ”.

No one spoke, and McCree felt his jaw drop slowly.

Was this the Jack Morrison he’d known for over a decade? The one obsessed with rules and goals, always on the edge with Gabe when it came to caring for their team before their mission?

Genji read his mind.

“… dude, you sounded so much like Gabe it was scary…”

It hurt. Even after all that time, McCree’s heart beat faster with how much he missed his old boss. His mentor, the one who pulled him from the streets and gave him purpose.  
  
Jack pressed his lips in a desperate line, head low to stare at his own hands.

At McCree’s side, Hanzo moved slightly to rest his leg against his thigh in a wordless form of comfort.

“He’d know what to do, but since we can only count on ourselves I want us out as soon as possible to…”

“Not like this”. Winston put a big, furry hand on Jack’s shoulder and shook him a bit with a kind smile, almost sad. When Jack eventually looked at him, he frowned. “You are right, we’re taking our Angela back, but not by throwing our other team members’ lives away. By dawn we’ll have a plan. Are you all with me?”

Genji was the first to state his decision. He stood up and stretched his wings for a moment, more serious than ever.

“I’ll contact Reinhardt – no, the Siberian base first. Last time I checked Mei had some interesting database at hand”.

McCree leaned back against his backrest and took a cigarette from his front pocket. Holding it between his teeth, he sneered at Jack.

“Jus’ tell me what to do, and I’m in. Maybe some more investigations downtown?”

“Not yet, Jesse, we must stick together now – but I knew we could count on you”. Winston winked, and McCree concealed a smile in his beard.

Hanzo didn’t speak for a long time, but when he looked at Jack, head low and eyes on fire, challenge was back in his eyes.

“You refused my cooperation more than once now. Are you going to do it again? Because”, and his voice dropped to a low rumbling, like a distant thunder, “you won’t keep me from standing at my brother’s side. Or away from those I choose to protect”. His hand openly clenched on McCree’s arm, and he almost let his cigarette fall.

Stubborn, proud and impossible – Hanzo was more than a partner, more than a lover.

_I’m yours._

Genji, too, seemed struck by his brother’s determination, and he closed his eyes for a moment as if in a silent prayer.

Jack rolled his eyes, but Winston stopped him with a quick gesture.

“It’s good that you’re all so eager to help, but right now we must prepare for action. Scraping the bottom of our barrel of information, if needed, and it won’t be an easy task. I’ll go make some coffee – lots of coffee – and then I’ll give each of you a set of files to go through. Get ready for a very long night”.

 

 

˜˜˜˜˜

 

 

Winston’s forecast of a long night had been an understatement. According to the clock flashing its bright red digits on the monitors, it was almost 2 AM and they were nowhere nearer to find Angela’s location.

Every now and then someone got out to check on Lena, who seemed to be doing reasonably well – still unconscious, but Lúcio insisted it was essential to her recovery.

Hanzo hid a yawn in the crook of his elbow, eyes burning as he scanned for the umpteenth time the map under his nose. Something in the back of his brain suggested him that Angela was still somewhere around San Angeles, but it was an unfounded idea and he needed proof.

“Hey, you doin’ ok there?” McCree, sitting at his side and looking up from the list of names he was checking, blinked at him. He too seemed exhausted, eyes hooded and a wrinkle between his eyebrows.

“Yes, but I don’t know if I’m more tired or frustrated”, he replied in a croak, his voice hoarse after many hours of silence. Jack and Winston kept on going back and forth through the base, but not one of their suspicions had proved correct; Genji, on the other side of the table, was dozing off with his head perched on his open hand, and no one had the heart to wake him up. With a sigh, McCree lay a hand on the back of Hanzo’s neck, rubbing gently.

“What ‘bout some coffee? We’re out of fuel”, and he pointed to the empty mugs scattered around the table, “we deserve a break and I’m sure they’ll thank us if we get some stuff from the kitchen…”

“I don’t know… it sounds like I’m skipping my duties…”

McCree massaged his contracted muscles, pressing hard with his metal fingers, and Hanzo was about to moan quietly as he undid the knots on his shoulders.

“Just five minutes. I promise”.

He wanted to protest some more – no more than two hours before he’d been in the med bay for a solid fifteen minutes – but McCree was right. Without some caffeine, his brain was not going to work properly; he sighed and nodded, pushing his chair back loud enough to startle Genji, who winced and blinked.

“I was not sleeping I swear”, he muttered, quickly gathering the papers he was laying on. Hanzo snorted and rolled his eyes, but McCree smiled.

“Be right back with something to keep you going, mate. Just don’t let the bosses find you like this…”

“You’re an angel”, he said, brushing his green bangs from his eyes and rubbing his face. He didn’t spare them a look, and McCree put his hand on the small of Hanzo’s back to lead him forward.

The corridor was even quieter than usual, and nothing seemed to move. Hanzo knew how McCree could hear every small movement around the base, but for him, the silence was overwhelming, only broken by their soft footsteps.

Suddenly, he felt lost. They were running in circles, and Overwatch was close to losing its determination; for him, this could have meant losing his second chance at life, and he couldn’t stand the idea. He stopped and turned around in McCree’s arms, finding some undeserved comfort in his strong presence.

“What’s up?”, he asked, frowning. Hanzo didn’t answer, only stood on his tiptoes and kissed him hard on the mouth. Taken aback, McCree stiffened for a second, only to slowly wrap his arms around Hanzo’s waist to pull him closer and open his lips in a deep kiss.

_I won’t lose you, or this dysfunctional little family we live in._

He relaxed in McCree’s embrace, letting his tongue wash away, if only for a moment, the nightmare around them. Some other time he was going to let his mind show him vivid, horrific pictures of what Angela’s death could’ve meant to McCree, or to Genji, but not now.

When they broke from the kiss with a small wet sound, he sighed and burrowed his nose in McCree’s shoulder. Strong hands, warm on his back, kept him anchored to reality.

“And what was this for?” McCree chuckled softly, his warm breath ruffling the hair on Hanzo’s temple.

“Shut up and hold me. Just… hold me for a while, ok?”

“I’m at your service”.

And so they stood still, less than a minute stolen from their despair. Something Hanzo needed not to lose himself in the fear of failure.

Soon he sighed and took a step back, staring intently at McCree. His hair was all tangled, his eyes drained but still crinkling at the corners in his sweet smile.

“Ok. Coffee, now”, he said, forcing himself to give one last pat on McCree’s chest. Such a small thing, but it gave him some energy back; McCree’, too, seemed to go back to a more familiar attitude as they walked to the kitchen.

“We’re gonna kick their ass, darlin’, mark my words. If by dawn we haven’t found whatever Winston thinks it’s important, we’re goin’ in town and do our own research, no matter what Jack says. Yer with me, aren’t you?”

Hanzo nearly smiled. It was a good thought – better a foolish action than the prospect of forced inactivity, and he’d been trapped in the base for months now.

“What’s your plan? Shall I dress in drag and do the hula to play the bait?”

At this, McCree snorted as he opened the door to the kitchen, palming at the wall to turn the lights on.

“Pretty, hot and with a sense of humor… yer a keeper, Hanzo, and when…”

The lights went out all at once with a clear _snap_.

Hanzo froze, his heart jumping into his throat, and at his side, McCree choked on his words. A click, as McCree pressed the switch again to no avail, and Hanzo frowned in the complete darkness.

“An overload?” he whispered. In the black emptiness, his voice echoed like a scream. It was a reasonable guess – a comforting one, but even as he voiced his question, he felt McCree tense.

“We have a UPS”. A snarl that dragged, low and dangerous, beyond the words; the hair on the back of Hanzo’s head stood up in alarm, and he fumbled to find the wall. Its smooth surface could’ve reassured him in a different situation, but right now all he needed was the certainty he wasn’t stranded in the dark.

McCree grabbed his wrist and Hanzo winced at the brutal pressure of metal on skin. He was so near Hanzo felt his heat radiate against him, and when he spoke, his growling vibrated through his bones.

“No, this is something else. Follow me”, and he pulled him. Hanzo refused to move, battling the swift wave of panic that surged in his throat.  
  
“I can’t see…”

“I do. Come with me”, and this time he took Hanzo’s hand, dragging him along.

He couldn’t keep his eyes open – what good could they be in that thick, suffocating darkness? – but followed him nonetheless, stumbling upon his feet where McCree sprinted steadily down their way back to the meeting room.

The silence was gone now, the stillness of the base shattering under their hasty pace and the voices rallying around them. Hanzo squeezed his eyes when he heard Genji call for Zenyatta.

Then McCree halted so abruptly Hanzo bumped into his back, and he didn’t fall only thanks to the thick arms going around him. He opened his eyes out of instinct and saw a pale blue light in the distance.

“Back in here, all of you!”

Jack barked from the door, and in the dim light of a tablet, Hanzo saw him hold Genji back with little care. His brother was hissing a violent protest while trying to wrestle himself free from the hand clenched on his wing, but fell quiet as soon as a new set of footsteps approached from behind them.

“What happened?” Zenyatta asked, running with Lúcio at his heels. His appearance stopped Genji’s struggle, and Hanzo saw him snatch hi swing from Jack’s grip and furiously walk back to the room.

“Dunno, but looks bad to me”, McCree grumbled. He let Lúcio and Zenyatta pass and took Hanzo’s hand, guiding him inside under Jack’s and Winston nervous stare.

“What _happened_?” This time Zenyatta sounded nothing like his gentle self; he was uptight, the slender fingers wrapped around his phone similar to the talons of a bird.

Jack ignored him, pointing the light to the wall. Winston followed his directions and opened a cabinet, rummaging in with quick and jittery hands.

“Jack?” This time it was McCree who spoke.

“Lúcio, is Lena safe?” Once more, Jack dodged the question; Hanzo turned to look at Lúcio, and all his companions’ faces were ghostly in the pale blue light.

“W-Well yes, she’s still stable and recovering from the surgery, she doesn’t need the machines anymore, but…”

“Good. I’ll stand guard by the med bay as soon as Winston is…”

“Jack, for fuck’s sake, tell us what’s wrong!” McCree raised his voice and planted himself in front of the door, blocking it. Only now Hanzo saw something weird in his eyes – his pupils were vertical, like those of a feline. He was still holding his hand, with more strength than necessary, and his dark shape was almost scary in the gloom.

“ _I don’t know!_ ” Jack roared back, opening his arms. A heavy gun was in his right hand, and something red flickered at his belt. “All I care about is your safety now, so stay here as Winston tries to put the systems back online and I go to…”

“We’re under attack, aren’t we?”

Hanzo hadn’t planned to speak, but words rolled off his tongue, flat and angry. A collectively held breath showed him he was only speaking everyone’s fears.

Jack looked at him, the blue of his eyes lost in the shadows of his face; the lines on his forehead and around his mouth seemed deeper than ever.

“I think we are”, he deadpanned.

No one said anything – there was no room for surprise, only to realize the threat they’d been sensing since the beginning was coming.

For them all.

“Everything seems to be working just fine”, mumbled Winston, back to his work. “The switches are all on, the security cameras didn’t signal us anything wrong, I just can’t figure out what…”

A low chuckle vibrated in the air. A female voice, deep and amused.

Hanzo clenched his fists and bent his knees in a guard position – and near him Genji did the same – but the voice came from everywhere and nowhere in particular.

“Show yourself, you coward”, Hanzo snarled, looking around in search for whoever was teasing them. A shiver went from McCree’s hand around his arm through his flesh, and he turned to him.

“Wait… I know you…” he said, shaking his head.

“Everyone, stand still”. Jack still sounded commanding, but this time his words betrayed a thin uncertainty.

The stranger kept on laughing, and then fell silent. With that, the phones, too, went dark.

A second of darkness, and Hanzo breathed fast through his nose.

_I can’t fight what I can’t see._

The main monitor on the wall flickered once, a maze of thin, angular lines appearing on screen, purple and shiny over a black shadow.

When such shadow smiled – a white gash in the black, the laughter louder than before – McCree cursed under his breath.

The lights flashed on, and Hanzo covered his eyes with his arms, dazzled.

“Scared of the dark, aren’t you?”

When he finally blinked the confusion away, Hanzo stared at the figure talking from the screen. A young woman, long purple hair in a thick braid and a sly crooked smile that seemed to mock them. She rolled her eyes and sighed, raising a small hand with a pattern of circuits all over her skin and inspecting it almost absentmindedly.

“ _Sombra_?” McCree let go of Hanzo and took a step forward, all anger gone in favor of the most absolute shock Hanzo could imagine. He was pale, eyebrows arched and voice nothing but a breathy whisper. Around him, everyone else showed a similar reaction – Genji’s jaw dropped, Lúcio slowly shook his head and Zenyatta covered his mouth with his hand.

_They know her._

“Who else, _amigo_? Your security system is almost decent, but – you know, I helped install it. Getting in was a piece of cake”, and she polished her nails on her chest.

Jack was the first to recover from the nasty surprise. He pushed Winston aside and stood in front of the screen, baring his teeth.

“What do you want, girl?”

“Come on, _soldado_ , smile a little or you’ll look old and sour – what would Gabe think?”, and she laughed again, throwing her head back. Jack grunted and punched the screen, shattering the glass in a cascade of sparkles and sizzling flashes of light.

Another monitor turned on, and Sombra clicked her tongue.

“Tut-tut, having a bad day? But don’t mind me and please, keep on destroying your equipment if it makes you feel better. You won’t keep me out”. She winked, stuck out her tongue and disappeared.

Hanzo looked from the screen to Jack, and then to McCree, but no one seemed in the mood for explanations. Goosebumps crept up his arms and his wings tingled with anticipation, fear and doubt.

_What’s going on here? Are we trapped?_

And then he remembered. Both Genji and McCree had told him of how Gabriel Reyes had left, taking two members of Overwatch with him.

If Sombra was here, did that mean…

The shadow of a movement caught his eye. When he turned around to see what that was, though, he saw nothing – until he looked down.

Smoke. Black and thick, crawling under the door and around McCree’s ankles. Hanzo grabbed his shoulder and dragged him away, catching him by surprise.

“What…”

“Something’s on fire”, he said, and immediately realized how stupid he sounded. The whole floor was covered in dark mist, bubbling and twirling in spirals around them.

But he smelled nothing burning, just his own dread and a new kind of tension running through the group. McCree retracted his lips on his fangs, staring at the door with his eyes wide open, the golden of the iris swallowed by his dilated pupils.

Jack was the first to react, and of course, wasn’t that his power? He loaded the gun and aimed at the door, white as a block of snow and twice as cold.

“Do. Not. Move”.

Hanzo despised to be ordered around, but right now he didn’t question Jack’s authority; he simply took one step forward and opened his wings, covering a good chunk of Zenyatta, Genji, and Lúcio behind him.

_I can heal. I can protect them._

The door slid open with a whisper of metal on metal, and the black cloud rolled, heavier and thicker than ever, from the threshold. Jack hesitated one second too long, because from the living, throbbing darkness a red laser light pointed right to his forehead.

“Yes. Don’t move”, another female voice said from the void, her French accent falling flat in the emotionless tones. Hanzo panted fast, a captive beast cornered by its predator, and stared at McCree; the wild creature inside him was approaching the surface, shoulders growing broader under his shirt, a beginning of claws deforming his hands.

“What do you want, Amélie?” Winston held his hands forward and spoke softly, in a voice so smooth Hanzo wanted to punch him – how could he be so calm right now?

The coils of smoke wrapped around Hanzo’s legs, and he kicked them in sheer panic; Genji grabbed his arm and sunk his fingers in the muscle, mouthing a soundless “Wait”.

“Ah, my beloved Jackie… why don’t you put your gun down and come give me a kiss?”

The black tentacles spoke, a gravelly deep voice that stripped Hanzo of what was left of his composure.

He turned to Genji, not hiding his shock, and saw him go grim and pale.

A human shape swelled from the fog, long legs and clawed hands and a flowing black trench around a thick frame. A white mask, the crude parody of a skull, stared at them with empty eyes.

The man, if such he was, tilted his head to the side and opened his arms, showing two shotguns hanging from his belt.

“Come on, is that how you guys greet an old friend?”

Hanzo, from the bottom of the worst confusion he’d ever felt, had a second to take in the tall woman with blueish skin and dead eyes behind the stranger.

Then, with a sound of ripped fabric, McCree howled and fell on all fours, his wolfish jaws open to show a complete set of deadly fangs. His metal hand – no, _paw_ , morphing easily with a clicking of metal – rasped the floor, and with a growl he leaped forward, claws going to the black figure.

As if from a great distance, Hanzo heard his own cry, covered by a bang and Jack’s loud curses, and soon the world exploded in a fireball of chaos.


	13. The Pretender

 

[The Pretender](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SBjQ9tuuTJQ)

  


Bite. Gnaw and tear and destroy. Flesh turning to smoke under his teeth, voices yelling from the distance, a gunshot.

Smells and sounds assaulted his senses, over-reactive now that the Beast was in full control. In front of him, Gabe was a screaming shadow, dissolving into mist and forming back over and over again.

Something growled inside McCree – loss and regret and a burning affection turned to hatred – but it was so easy to ignore it under the roar of instinct and rage.

He recognized a voice, Jack was saying something, calling names, standing in the way. McCree turned around and shot his metal arm forward, but Jack was gone already.

Blood. He needed blood, because blood meant the end of suffering.

“Jesse!”

The crimson of his outburst faded to blue, his name rang upon the chaos in urgent, deep tones.

_Jesse. That’s me._

It was almost enough to bring him back from the bottom of his transformation, but when a pair of huge, impossibly strong hands grabbed his shoulders he snarled and rose up. His jaws snapped into thin air, less than an inch from Winston’s face.

“Calm down, Jesse, we’re not in danger… no, stop it!” Winston tackled him to the floor, his long blue arms tight around his chest, blocking his arms. And no matter how much McCree howled or reared, all he could do was shake incoherently and flounder wildly under Winston’s weight. He felt him move above him, a knee pressed steadily between his shoulders – crushing his chest, not enough to break his ribs but with such strength his lungs couldn’t inflate properly. McCree panted while the world blurred at the corners of his eyes; a loud buzzing covered the angry voices surrounding him, and he fought with all he’d got. Which was not much, now that his head let go of his primal rage to focus on mere survival. He kicked weakly, and the world was almost going black when something gave way inside him.

His muscles relaxed and a quiet series of metal clicks proved his arm was going back to his human form, as the rest of his body. Only his heart was still racing, fighting the dizziness and the desperate need to breathe; one more second of pressure and he was going to pass out.

The burden on his back relented, and McCree shivered when the first lungful of air filled his ribcage. Winston still held his arms blocked behind his back, but now he was half standing, panting as fast as McCree.

“Like this, my friend. Breathe. It’s ok, just breathe…”

And McCree knew he had to follow his sensible advice, but all his body convulsed in dry coughs that nearly made him retch. Tears swelled in his eyes as he writhed under Winston.

“L-Let me go”, he grunted between coughs, obscurely comforted to hear actual words come from his mouth. Winston ignored him.

“Gabriel, please, leave. It’s not safe for…”

“For _me_?” Gabe’s voice twisted into a mirthless laughter and he took a step forward. All McCree could see was the leather and metal of his boots, now standing inches from his nose. Such an irrelevant detail, and yet enough to make fury and pain roar once more inside him. “Leave the kid alone, big guy. He can’t hurt me…”

“But if…”

“I trust him”.

This was more than McCree could stand. He closed his eyes and swallowed back tears. Of anger, yes, and shame – once again, Hanzo had to witness his fall – but mostly of a long-lost sense of familiarity he thought forgotten.

Slowly, carefully, Winston unfolded his hands from McCree’s wrists and left them hovering there, uncertain of the other’s reaction. McCree perched himself on his hands and shook on his arms, aching all over.

“We’re here to help”, Gabe said, no bitter sarcasm in his voice. McCree looked up at him from underneath his scruffy hair, and hated himself for the confusion that twisted in his guts.

Hating Gabe would have been so much easier. Resentment had been all he’d allowed himself to feel since he’d left almost one year ago, but now, looking at his lined face, tired and familiar, he felt the old affection burn bright inside him. He couldn’t bring himself to check on the others, but he caught a glimpse of Hanzo, standing proud at his side with a fiery protective look on his face.

“Help? Why? Why now?” Jack snapped, and for once he let his vulnerability show through his tone. McCree slowly got to his feet, still trembling, and saw how big and desperate the soldier’s eyes were.

_He still loves him._

“You need us. We know what happened to Angela, and trust me, you want our cooperation”, he said. Something softened on his face, and he lightly shook his head. “We have information”.

McCree staggered, and Hanzo was quick to catch him, holding him with shivering fingers. For the time of a heartbeat, McCree met his eyes and found no disgust there, only a silent promise of unconditional support. And something else.

“How did you get in? Why all this secrecy? Gabe, you… you can’t expect us to trust you after…”

“Jack. Look at me and tell me you don’t crave a helping hand, I dare you”.

Lying was not Jack Morrison’s strongest suit. He stared deep into Gabe’s black eyes for a solid minute, then lowered his head.

“You’re a bastard”.

“But I’m here, and we have to talk”, but now he wasn’t looking at Jack anymore. “What do you think, kid? Care to have a word with your old friend?”

McCree snarled and clenched his fists – no, he didn’t want to talk, it was easier to let the past be gone and move on, but the more he looked at Gabe, the more he felt like a stranded teen desperate for someone who could guide him.

Winston blinked and gestured to Genji, Zenyatta, and Lúcio, still frozen in shock. A quick nod from Zenyatta, who took the other two’s arms and gently pulled them along with him. Genji turned to look at McCree – _Are you going to be alright?_ He seemed to say without a word, and McCree wished he could reassure him – but followed the others out of the room.

Jack pressed his lips into an exasperated line and patted Hanzo on the shoulder.

“Come”.

“No”.

The block of silence that fell on the small group was as heavy and cold as ice. Hanzo didn’t even look at Jack, completely focused on Gabe; his hand slid down McCree’s arm and found his palm, clenching it firmly.

“If Jesse wants me to go, he’ll tell me. But I’m not leaving him alone”.

With a sigh, McCree let what little was left of the Beast wash away from his skin and tangled his fingers with Hanzo’s, clumsy and hopeless. Hanzo squeezed his hand and set his jaw to a stubborn angle.

“Looks like he wants you to stay”, Jack muttered. He let his broad shoulders fall and exchanged a quick look with Gabe – and there, in that sparkle shining between them, was a lifetime of love and loss, of fears, war and defeat. He turned on his heels and marched out of the room, and McCree didn’t miss the flick of Gabe’s hand, or how it lightly brushed Jack’s fist.

The door closed and they were alone.

McCree locked eyes with Gabe and waited, and he didn’t even know for what. An apology would have only reignited his fire, but what else could he expect?

Not Gabe’s grin, lopsided and dry.

“Look at the young lovebirds, how pretty you are…” He took one step toward Hanzo, looking down at him with scorn. “The other Shimada, if I’m not mistaken. And I know I’m not”.

“If you’re to speak to Jesse, please ignore me. But as I said, I won’t leave him”.

“Hush, wet dream of any scalie. You two are very cute, but I know all too well how relationships get sour in Overwatch”.

“Just because you and Jack didn’t…”

“I said shut up”, he growled with such an authority Hanzo fell silent at once. Still seething with outrage, he went pale, baring his teeth but keeping quiet. McCree shivered and blinked, and eventually found his voice.

“What d’you want from me?”

“To see your face and make sure you were doing fine”, he replied simply. McCree fought back tears and the childish desire to let Gabe hug him and tell him everything was going to be ok.

“I was doing fine, thank you very much. But now that Angela…”

“We’ll talk about her later, I’m not going to lay down all my team’s work if I’m not sure we’re all on the same page”.

“If that’s your problem, why aren’t you rescuing her on your own?” Hanzo hissed, and Gabe snickered bitterly.

“I’m not a fool, pup. Overwatch lacks the information we can provide, but we’re too few to do it on our own. Truth is, we need each other, and Angela needs us all”.

McCree grunted and picked a very squished cigarette from his back pocket; before he could find the lighter, though, Gabe snatched it from his lips.

“No smoking in front of me, Jesse”.

“Oh, so now yer playin’ the good fatherly figure once more? That’s _pathetic_!”

This seemed to crack a line in Gabe’s façade; his dark eyes fluttered closed, and he opened his mouth to speak words he couldn’t voice. McCree stubbornly took another cigarette and lit it up, blowing a puff of smoke in Gabe’s face as a petty challenge.

“I left you all, and you’re the one who suffered more from my decision – yeah, even more than Jack. He was angry enough with me to move on, and he knows he had his share of guilt. But you…”

“No, man, no that’s not the problem! You left, and I picked myself up”, he rubbed a trembling finger on Hanzo’s hand, as if to make sure he was still real. His compass, his anchor. “But then you came back! What did you expect, a pat on the shoulder?”

“Well kid, you know what? I expected exactly what happened! I deserve your anger and contempt, and no matter how much I’ll miss the times when I could call you a friend, I’ll live with it if you promise me you’ll help us find Angela”.

“Pro… promise? As if I cared about what you think!” he barked, masking his blatant lie with a growling laughter. Hanzo held his breath at his side, and McCree felt again the prickle of tears in his eyes.

He sniffed and looked away to hide his reddened eyes, but he had to bite his lip to stop it from trembling.

“I’m sorry, Jesse. I never meant to hurt you, but I couldn’t be part of a team that didn’t trust me anymore. I won’t ask for your forgiveness, just – I needed you to know why I left”, Gabe said in a low, soft voice.

“They took Angela away, and Lena nearly died, and had you been here maybe…” His words choked him, and with that, he started to cry for real. No sobs, just tears running down his cheeks and fading into his beard. Gabe, unexpectedly, opened his eyes wide and stared at him.

“ _Lena_?”

“They shot her! And… and I don’t know if she’ll make it through the night, Lúcio tried his best but she’s so still and silent and it’s just – that pale, dying thing in the med bay _is not Tracer_!” He was screaming, and it was as if the appearance of a ghost from his past had broken the inner barriers that held horror at bay.

A cloak of icy cold calm fell upon Gabe. He took a deep breath and his shoulders and face twirled briefly in black coils.

“Take me to her”, he said grimly. Even without his skull mask, now he looked like a dead, terrible creature from a nightmare.

Hanzo was quick to react. He pulled McCree’s hand and led him to the door, eager to remove him from this stressful situation. And he was glad to follow, but somewhere down the corridor he stopped and looked at Gabe.

“I tried to kill you…”  
  
“A waste of time”.

“Fuck off, Gabe. I missed you, and if you disappear again I don’t think I’ll ever be able to forgive you”.

His own words surprised him. They came from a secret place inside him, made of truth and clean, pure things, and McCree knew they were genuine.

Gabe tilted his head to the side and gave him – and Hanzo, too – a sidelong look thick with their story. A man who picked a stray kid from the street and made a good man out of him. The shadow of a smile stretched his lips in his black beard.

“I’d never ask you such thing”, and he gestured them to follow him.

As if he’d never left the base. As if it was his home.

 

 

This time, McCree didn’t enter Lena’s room. He’d had enough of her tiny figure bundled in white sheets and tubes, and he doubted he had the strength for another round, so he stopped by the door and let Gabe walk past him. Hanzo wrapped his wing around his shoulders in a silent declaration of protection, and McCree leaned against him – both in search of comfort and out of exhaustion from his earlier poor show.

Lúcio was explaining something to Jack, and Gabe joined them in silence. When he forced himself to check the scene playing in front of him, McCree noticed that Lena looked somewhat different – still pale, still so fragile it hurt, but now almost relaxed.

“She’s not sedated anymore”, Lúcio said, his voice trembling. “The effects of the anesthesia are wearing off, and I think something lighter is better for her general conditions. She’s doing quite good, all things considered”.

“Tracer…”

Gabe’s voice was a choked whisper; he walked to the bed and every pretense of hardness disappeared from his face. He was so sad, so full of wounded affection McCree couldn’t look at him. He took Lena’s hand in his big, clawed gloved one and lifted it to his face.

“You’re a brave girl. A jackass, but brave…”

McCree smiled despite everything, and Hanzo didn’t miss it. He looked up at him and frowned.

“He cares”, he murmured, staring back at Gabe, now sitting on the edge of the bed, and McCree sighed.

“He’s always cared too much ‘bout us and, according to Jack, too little ‘bout the protocols. That’s what drove him away”. He’d been regretting his anger since the moment he’d got back to himself, but only now he realized how much he’d missed his first mentor and friend. Hanzo still looked nervous, and he couldn’t blame him, but it was something they would discuss later.

The soft sound of footsteps behind him caught his attention, and when he turned he saw Amélie standing there. Whatever positive emotion he could harbor chilled when he saw her eyes.

Dead, as they’d been when they brought her back from the laboratories. Some broken things weren’t meant to be fixed, and she stared at Lena with no trace of emotion on her delicate face. It was a matter of seconds before she simply walked away, her heels ticking on the floor.

McCree watched her go, nauseated at how badly the tests had affected her, but luckily for him, a small sound from the bed saved him from the darkest of memories.

“Reaper?”

Lena’s voice was husky and hoarse, and Lúcio jumped on his feet and hurried to reach her side. Gabe clutched her hand and looked at the young frog mutant, but only got an encouraging nod back.

“Hey, little one. Long time no see, right?”

“You… look a m-mess”, she chuckled. When McCree defeated his own fears, spurred by relief and curiosity, he saw that her eyes were unfocused, wandering up and down Gabe’s frame without really seeing him. The rest of the team collectively held its breath, and Winston allowed himself a trembling, watery smile.

“You’re one to talk… not surprised to see me?”

“I’ve had weirdest dreams”, she concluded with a seraphic grin, before sighing loudly and falling back on the pillow, her breath slow and regular with sleep. Jack closed his eyes, and McCree could’ve sworn his lips moved into a silent ‘thank you’. Gabe, too, noticed him: he let Lena’s hand slip from his fingers and turned to look at him, and for a single, golden moment all of their past quarrels seemed forgotten.

A brief ray of sunshine, immediately dimmed by a mask of steel and rage that fell on Gabe’s features.

“Alright, boy scout: it’s time we talk. For real”.

Jack curled his lips in a hard smile and waved to the door. Lúcio and Zenyatta stood with Lena, and Genji hesitated before following Winston, but eventually McCree found himself leaning against the wall in the same room where Gabe had first appeared, now full of glass shards and smelling of burnt circuits. Amélie joined them, rifle in hand and face completely neutral. McCree tried his best to avoid looking at her and searched for a cigarette instead.

Gabe was the first to sit down, and Jack picked a chair opposite to him.

“What do you want?” he said, balling his hands into fists and showing bruises and blood on his knuckles.

“To bring Angela back and to expose the government for its crimes, as I’ve told you before”. Gabe stretched his long legs under the table and grinned like a wolf. “I’m sure you can put your resentment aside for a while, my dear Jack”.

 

 

˜˜˜˜˜

 

 

Hanzo felt out of place. No matter if McCree was right behind him, his presence a silent comfort despite the dreadful display of power of less than an hour ago, or Genji was sitting at his side, pulling his chair closer as if to search and offer support: this whole situation was new and unexpected, and he was the only one in the room who didn’t know Gabriel Reyes.

And now that he finally got to meet him in person, he couldn’t bring himself to trust the man. McCree was clearly still suffering from both his departure and his return, Jack was silently quivering with confusion and a broken heart, and the mere clashing of the balance he’d managed to find after years of wandering was enough to keep him on the edge. He crossed his arms over his chest and kept his eyes on Gabe, trying his best to look cold and intimidating.

“You said you have information. How did you get it?” asked Winston, taking his glasses off and rubbing his eyes.

“We have a secret informer – a spy, if you want”, said Gabe with no hesitation.

“Where are they? Gabe, you can’t expect us to take you face value on this, there’s too much at stake”. Jack seemed to be fighting an inner battle between hope and distrust, and he already lost the one to keep his eyes cold and distant. He looked at Gabe with such a longing Hanzo almost felt bad for him.

“She’s with Sombra, and I won’t tell her to come in until I’m sure nothing will happen to her”.

“Do you really think… for fuck’s sake, Gabe!” Jack grabbed his hair and fell forward, elbows hitting the table. “You trust me so little?”

“We’re talking about a civilian here, and her safety comes first”.

“You have our word, my friend. You and your team managed to breach through our security system only thanks to Sombra’s abilities, but the base is still the safest place I can think of”, quickly said Winston, eager for more details. “She can stay here, and no one would be better guarded”.

Gabe stared at the blue mutant for a long time, and even Hanzo had to admit that Winston sounded so utterly sincere it was impossible to doubt his good intentions. Eventually, the man clad in black relaxed and bowed his head.

“Fine. But first you have to know this: we’ve been right since the beginning, and even if I keep cursing the government we’re dealing with a secret unit working literally undercover. Institutions know about the Registration Act, but whatever wicked programme is being carried on on mutants is kept hidden. I doubt even the feds know much about it”.

“And you claim you have a snitch who knows about…”

“I don’t claim shit, Jesse, it’s the truth”, he said, turning to McCree with a hard grimace. Hanzo felt the immediate need to defend his man, no matter what.

Gabe lost his war face and shook his head.

“She worked for this guy who’s into the whole Guinea pigs thing, and I know she’s not lying – she provided us with proofs, and I wish I could say I checked them in detail, but to be completely honest she stumbled upon us just hours ago and…”

“ _Stumbled upon you_?” This time Hanzo couldn’t hold his tongue. All of this was too weird and shady for his tastes, and he smelled a trap. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but weren’t you on the run, hiding and avoiding contacts with anyone who knew you? And out of the blue, this nameless lady finds you just in time to give you hints on Angela’s whereabouts?”

Reyes slowly turned his head to Hanzo, who suppressed a shiver under the gaze of those completely black eyes.

“Are you doubting my loyalty? _You_ , of all those who are here?”  
  
“I didn’t abandon a fight”, he snapped back, vitriol and contempt dripping from his words.

McCree reached out and put a warning hand on his shoulder, while Gabe slowly pushed the chair back and towered above him.

“I beg you pardon?”

Hanzo mirrored his gesture, sliding away from Genji’s arm trying to hold him back. Reyes was quite taller than him, but Hanzo was not one to let others intimidate him.

“I didn’t run away from a delicate situation, leaving those who needed me behind. I didn’t…”

“You have the guts to lecture me about family and loyalty, Shimada? Last time I checked, you were the one who sold his own fucking brother to the government!”

“Gabe, this is between me and Hanzo, and we’re fine”. Genji stood up and tried to divide them, but only received a push that sent him tumbling against the table.

Hanzo bared his teeth as all color left his face. If he fuelled his fury enough he could avoid the stain of guilt and regret that still tainted him, a cacophony of voices screaming in the back of his brain. He hissed and stood up to Reyes, wings spreading to their limit in a screen that kept McCree and Genji away.

It was his business, now.

“What do you know about my life, Reyes? About what I’ve been through, what I’ve had to suffer any single day since I was born? You know…”

His heated retort waned into a strangled sound as Reaper’s claws grabbed him by the front of his shirt; he found himself dragged forward, so close to Gabe’s face his shadow tentacles slithered on his skin. 

“So you think you had it bad, little prince? _You_?” He bent over Hanzo and his poisonous whisper caressed his ears, over the drumming of his heart and the chorus of quickened warnings. Reaper slapped Jack’s hand from his arm and clenched his fingers, his talons digging into Hanzo’s throat. A black cloud floated from his mouth when he pulled back with a snarl. “Try to be a mutant in an experimental army programme, and then you may speak”.

He pushed Hanzo back, sending him panting and coughing in McCree’s arms.

“Leave him alone, Gabe, you have no quarrel with him”, he tried to say, but Hanzo was not having any of his much needed comfort. He ran a hand over his mouth and stared at Gabe, ready for another round of wrath. The flick of the other man’s arm silenced him and sent a shock of pure fear up his nerves: as the black trench opened, Gabe grabbed the gun at his belt with a deadly smirk on his lips.

“Have you ever wanted to end it all? To stop suffering for good, to go to bed and never wake up? Because I did, you snotty brat, and guess what?” He took the weapon, and for a terrible moment, Hanzo was sure he was going to point it at him, or at any other of the people gathered there. But no, Reaper turned it upwards and laid the muzzle under his own jaw. “I can’t”.

He pulled the trigger. Hanzo gaped at the booming shot and his knees melted in horror as a sticky black matter splattered on his face.

Tiny white lights sparkled around his eyes, framing the deformed shape of the man in front of him – Reyes was still standing, arms limp and a revolting smoking void where his head used to be. Hanzo staggered and fell behind, a strangled long moan rising from his chest. He couldn’t think or react, mesmerized by the panic gripping him.

He was dead. Gabriel Reyes was _dead_ , no one could survive such a gruesome shot, he was dead and it was his fault for having pushed him to such a delirious gesture.

… but if he was dead indeed, why wasn’t anyone around him screaming? Acid burned his throat and he clasped his palm on his mouth as he gave a manic look all around him.

Winston slowly shook his massive head, and Jack rolled his eyes with an annoyed huff; behind him, Genji just wiped a splash of dark slime from his chest, flicking his fingers to the swaying, headless figure in front of him.

Hanzo didn’t refuse McCree’s arm and turned to look at him, hoping not to throw up; a mildly amused face blinked at him.

“Are you ok, cupcake?”  
  
“He… he… his head… blew up… he’s…”

“Gabe, again with this old trick? You could’ve just told the kid, instead of traumatizing him”. Jack slapped Gabe’s back, and Hanzo was still light years away from understanding what the hell was going on.

Then something crawled on his skin, wiggling on his cheeks and down his neck. He forgot dignity and screamed for good, wildly waving his arm as the black blob shuffled to his scaly wrists.

The dark spot fell from his hand and to the ground, climbing its way up Gabe’s legs, his torso, and up until his neck.

“Take those things off me!” Hanzo was past the point of caring about his own personal image and he clung to McCree, yelling.

“Ok, ok, easy. Here, let me… no, come on, no need to scream in my ears, love”, he mumbled as he wiped the mutant matter from Hanzo’s face.

One by one, like many tiny worms, the clots crawled back to Gabe’s shoulders and quickly assembled back into something resembling a human skull. Hanzo stared dumbstruck, horror and awe all tangled into one, and when the shapeless head faded into black steam and solidified back into a very normal, very healthy new version of Reyes’ face he almost fell sitting on the floor. McCree gently guided him back to the chair and caressed his arm.

“I know, Jackie, but isn’t it funnier like this?” Gabe chuckled, and any threat was gone from his composure. He looked at Hanzo with some mischief and lifted his chin with a finger. “Hate me, if you want to, but do not interfere”.

“You… you are a psychopath…” he managed to blurt out, and Gabe threw his head back and laughed.

“Oh, you’re wrong, kid. I’m extremely sane, trust me… but I must admit you were right on one thing: I don’t know everything. Especially, I didn’t know you were one of _us_ ”.

Hanzo growled as his heart kept on thumping, now with anger rather than with shock.

“So what?”

“Human, mutant, it’s not your DNA what makes you a friend or an enemy. But we’re on the same team, and if your other little friends here can work with me you’d better do your part. What do you think?”

What did he think? Gabriel Reyes was clearly a dangerous, ruthless man, with a sense of drama and too much charisma for his own good. Hanzo felt the tip of his ears go warm from sheer embarrassment, and it took him a good deal of determination not to lower his head. When Reaper’s words echoed in his memory, though, something inside him settled down.

_Have you ever wanted to end it all?_

Yes, the answer was yes, and it brought along memories of that dark and empty moment of his life – Genji gone, their father dead, he himself a lost soul living hand-to-mouth – where the idea of death had almost seduced him.

He let out a long, shivering breath and watched as Reyes got back to his seat. Eventually, brutally conscious of the many eyes waiting for his reaction, he placed his still trembling hands on the table and nodded.

“Ok”, and it was like his angry consent had loosened something in the group. Everyone sat back around the table, and McCree gently brushed his fingers to the back of his wings.

“Fine. And all in all, you’re not completely wrong in not trusting me. You’re a smart fellow who needs proofs, right?”

“Not just him”, Jack said. “Christ, Gabe, don’t you ever dare to shoot yourself in my base again. You could’ve hurt someone”.

“Just my own feelings, since none of you appreciated my little demonstration – but enough talking. Shall I introduce my source, then?”

A thrill ran through the group, and Hanzo was glad his own demise was being ignored for more pressing matters. Gabe and Jack exchanged a long, meaningful look – and whatever they’d been for each other still existed, if the faint pink on Jack’s cheekbones meant anything – until the latter ruffled his hair once again.

“Winston, open the…”

Gabe hushed him with a wave of his hand.

“No need to”. He touched something behind his ear and winked at Winston. “Sombra, the door”.

“Now wait, Gabe, you can’t just break into other people’s house like this”, Winston tried to stop him, but Jack grumbled and crossed his legs.

“Fine, we do it your way. You want her to stop and make coffee, too?”

“Oh no”, said Gabe with a smile. “I can do that. Is the coffeemaker still in the second cabinet on the left?”

And maybe Hanzo was dreaming it, or more likely he was still upset from the gore display, but he was rather sure Jack smiled as he shook his head, looking at Gabe while he left the room.

Five minutes and he was back, and by then McCree had occupied his place, extending a hand to hold Hanzo’s. Nobody looked much inclined to speak, in a mixture of anxiety and tiredness, but the appearance of Gabe with a pot of coffee roused them all.

“What? Oh, you thought I was Sombra? Yeah, sorry to disappoint, it’ll take her some minutes to get here – we haven’t parked near”.

“ _Parked_? You have a car? That’s too risky! You could’ve been seen, you…”

“Come on, Winston. It’s Sombra we’re talking about, do you really think we would stroll around on a bright pink Camaro? … well, yeah, actually that’s exactly what she would do, but we were adequately shielded, and…”

McCree’s fingers twitched in Hanzo’s hand and he turned to the door. Gabe smiled at him with some sincere pride, and he shrugged.

“Alright, they’re here”.

And he was correct. Less than a minute later, a soft whistling came from the corridor, announcing the arrival of the same circuit-ridden, purple haired girl that had teased them from the screens.

“ _Hola_ everyone! Geez, you all look so grim – cheer up a bit!” Sombra grinned, and her mixture of bright blue and purple tight clothes and equally bright hair made her look like the Cheshire cat. She wiggled her fingers and met some suspicious stares, while others – Genji’s and McCree’s, mostly – seemed genuinely happy to see her. The latter, especially, half stood up to greet her, without letting go of Hanzo’s hand.

Sombra didn’t fail to notice it.

“Oh my, our little Jesse got himself a boyfriend – and a pretty one, too! What are you, stranger, some kind of furry?”

Hanzo blushed red and loaded a snarky retort, but before an equally flustered McCree could reply, Reyes gestured her to stop it.

“Is she with you?” he asked, sounding way more commanding than before. Hanzo let his hair fall on his face to hide his blush, but was actually pretty happy that Gabe had some form of control over the situation – and Sombra.

The girl arched a dark eyebrow and scrunched her nose.

“Of course, I can remember simple instructions, you know? Try not to look too scary, all of you. She’s a good person and I don’t want you to traumatize her”, and to Hanzo’s surprise, she almost sounded serious. She turned to the door, where Amélie was still mounting guard, and gently called someone who was clearly standing out in the dark.

“They’re waiting for you”, her warm voice said, now without sarcasm. “Yes, they’re gonna help us. And no, no I’m not leaving, ok?” After a second, Sombra was back, and behind her a tiny figure tiptoed to the room.

Hanzo instinctively stood up, as did everyone else but Gabe. In part out of simple good manners, but mostly in complete bewilderment.

The newcomer was a woman in her late forties, and she was – Hanzo couldn’t think of a better definition – _normal_. A short auburn bob streaked in grey on the fringe, a round face and big hazel eyes, scared and underlined by delicate wrinkles, the lady clutched her purse in her hands, and everything, from her pale cheeks to her tidy, plain dress, spoke of a life Hanzo had never lived. A small house in the suburbs, maybe some flowers at the window, a cat or two and probably a boring job behind a desk.

She was, very simply, the least likely kind of person for this mission.

But Sombra smiled at her with a kindness that made her look harmless, and the lady managed to reciprocate, patting her wrist.

“Thank you, Olivia”, she said in a small voice.

“ _Olivia_? Who’s Olivia?” McCree blinked and scanned his companions’ faces for answers, but Sombra quickly shut him up.

“It’s me, _cabròn_ ”, she said sternly, avoiding anyone’s stare. Hanzo’s head spun with too much news all at once. Gabe took the lead and smiled kindly, leaving his seat to the newcomer.

“May I introduce you all to miss Clementine Bishop? Here, darling, are Winston McCoy, Jesse McCree, the Shimada brothers and my good old Jack Morrison, who more or less guides this gang of misfits”.

“It’s a pleasure, miss Bishop”, Winston said with a polite bow. “May I offer you some coffee?”

“T-Thank you mister… McCoy?” She gingerly took Gabe’s chair, looking even smaller, all curled up on herself. Her eyes were scared but bright as she stared at Winston’s rather striking blue fur. “Like…”

“Er – yes, like _that_ McCoy. My grandfather, you see. And you are…”

She took a shuddering breath and placed her purse on the table.

“I am… Clementine, as Mr. Reyes told you. Just Clementine, and I am so tired of the things I’ve seen…” Her voice broke, and Jack poured her some coffee. She thanked him in silence with a trembling smile, and for a while sipped quietly from the cup, her hands a bit unsteady.

No one dared to break the silence, and eventually she smacked her lips and looked up at the group. Now she didn’t seem so fragile anymore, her eyes shining with determination in her plump face.

“I know of the Registration Act 619. I know what they’re doing to… to the mutants, and why they’re disappearing. And I know it now, because I’ve been living in suspicion for years… b-but I was scared, and I didn’t know what to do or who could help me”.

“On my honor, miss Bishop, I swear you’re among friends”. Jack was as eager for reveals as anyone, but he successfully attempted at sounding patient and kind. “We’re in great danger, and a good woman who lived to help those in need is now prisoner of this wicked program. Any help you can provide will be vital”.

“Of course you say so”, she snapped, eyes dancing between Jack and Gabe. “You’re desperate, as I am”. She let her lids flutter closed and clenched her fists. “I am… no, I _used to_ for the Registration department. I w-was dr. Dreschner personal assistant”.

A loud crash, and Hanzo jumped on his feet. At his side, Genji was standing, hands clawing the table and jaws clenched; deadly pale, every single scar on his face, every emerald scale burned under the white lights.

“You know him”, he hissed, shaking. Clementine covered his mouth with her hand and tears welled up in her eyes, but she didn’t shrink away.

“Yes. I know him, and he trusts me. And…” She dropped her hand, lips white and stretched. “And I betrayed him, because he’s a monster and deserves no pity. I can lead you to him… and to your friend”.


	14. World on fire

 

[World on fire](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rqj1hf-KQ2c)

  


Genji stared at miss Bishop with his hands still clutching the table. It was as if his field of vision was reduced to the plain face of the woman, everything else around him melting into a cloud of black and red.

Reaper returning with Sombra and Amélie was enough already to stress his tensed nerves, but the mere mention of dr. Dreschner had opened a dark door in his soul.

In front of his eyes, the ghost of his torturer floated insistently – pale long face and red hair and placid blue eyes. Every stitch, every cut on his body seemed to open and bleed again, and where he’d thought only scars were, a fiery burning bloomed again. Not only in his flesh but deeper inside him.

Clementine was still talking in her trembling, angry voice, and many of his friends had questions, concerns, they wanted details.

Not him. All he could do was stare and seethe silently with a nauseating thirst for vengeance he couldn’t quench. In his mind he wrapped his hands around Dreschner’s neck, fingers tightening on the freckled skin until he could feel the rings of his windpipe snap and collapse under his pressure. He wanted to look at those pale eyes as the bulged from Dreschner’s skull, crushing his bones and cursing his name and drinking the death that lingered around them.

A light hand closed on his arm, and Genji turned abruptly, biting at the air. Hanzo opened his eyes wide but didn’t shrink back, squeezing him gently.

“Sit down, Genji”, he said. Genji wanted to yell his fury at him, and now that the door was open all his darkest thoughts peeked from the threshold. But Hanzo insisted, nodding slowly. “It’s ok. We’re going to get him, and I’ll lay his body at your feet if that’s what you want. But now I need my little brother…”

Genji hissed through his teeth, eyes locked with his brother’s. Hanzo was still pale after Gabe’s outburst, but his mouth was set to that stubborn line he knew so well it was almost reassuring.

“You’re not the only one who wants him dead”, Amélie said in her flat voice from behind them, but Genji couldn’t meet her gaze. He remembered too well those dreadful moments in a sterile surgery room, confused and frightened and ready to die, but Amélie’s fate was even worse than death.

He wanted to let his brother’s words sink in, they sounded so sensible and real, but the roaring beast of anger inside him wouldn’t relent. He scraped the table, leaning forward to Clementine and forgetting Hanzo’s hand on him.

 _Tell me where he is – tell me_ now _, because I can’t live now that you reminded me that he’s still breathing and intact while so many of us have suffered at his hand._

He couldn’t speak, only growl softly. And now in the darkness of his fury more voices called him, none he would listen to – until a gentle one cut through the thick fog of his rage.

“… heard a shot. What happened?”

Genji blinked and turned to the door, to find Zenyatta frowning in alarm. Behind him, Lúcio was pushing a wheelchair, where Lena was crouched, deadly pale and shaking but awake.

Golden eyes met his own, and Genji shivered, falling back into his chair. His vision cleared, and he eventually realized that everyone in the room was staring at him. Not with contempt, but in complete, sincere concern – Hanzo most of all, eyes shining and lip caught between his teeth.

“It’s ok, Zen, it was just Gabe being his usual self”, Jack grunted. “Is it safe to bring her here?”

“I can’t friggin’ believe you’re back”. Lena sounded faint and weak, but the look she shot Gabe could’ve set him on fire. “You… you are…”

“She woke up after the bang and was really upset, there was no way to keep her in her bed”, Lúcio explained, pushing the wheelchair to the table. “Angela wouldn’t have allowed it, but Lena threatened to severe some parts of my body I’m pretty fond of, so…”

“I can’t believe it!” she said again, louder, her lips trembling. Tears beaded on her lashes as she shook her head. “Why are you…”

“To bring Angela back”, Zenyatta interrupted her, crouching at her side and taking her hand. “But you must be quiet, my friend, or we’ll have to take you back to the med bay”.

His voice was calm and soothing, and it affected Genji, too. When Zenyatta briefly turned to look at him, a tiny smile curled his lips, and Genji felt the smoke inside him clear.

“Your boyfriend here is 80% of your impulse control”, Gabe grumbled.

“You know something about that, right?” Jack said, only half serious. Gabe glared at him, but some of the tension eased from his face.

“I… I can’t believe…” Lena, still sporting an IV needle attached to a plastic sack hanging from a pole on the back of her chair, ran a hand over her face. “It was not a dream”. A sob shook her chest and she moaned in pain; Lúcio quickly fidgeted with a small switch on the IV and patted her shoulder.

“Alright, some more meds for you. But don’t stress yourself out, ok?”

Zenyatta stood up and walked to Genji, standing behind him with a calming hand on his shoulder.

“… something more than 80%”, he admitted, and Zenyatta smiled. It was easier now, with him softly caressing his arm and wing, to keep himself together. Dreschner was still alive, and it sucked, but growling at a poor woman who was trying her best to help them was not useful. “I’m sorry, I… I still remember what Dreschner did to me – to us – and I lost control”.

Zenyatta’s “ _I’m proud of you_ ” rang in his brain, a silent message no one but him could hear, and Genji lifted a hand to caress his fingers.

Clementine blinked fast and stared at him with tears in her eyes.

“He did those to you, didn’t he?” she asked, pointing at the scars on his face and chest.

“Yes”, he said curtly. Zenyatta moved closer still, and it helped.

“And you… poor child”, she said when her gaze moved to Lena. She was crying for real now, but without a great show. Her nose went red pretty fast, but her voice didn’t falter. “You’re so young…”

“Miss Bishop, pardon me if I’m blunt, but while your good intentions are more than clear we must know why you’re here with us now”. Winston, hadn’t he been so blue and hairy, could’ve sounded like a very polite and calming middle-aged teacher. Genji squirmed and mentally corrected himself: no, he sounded _exactly_ like that, and his physical appearance did nothing to invalidate his good soul. “You’ve been working for the Government for some years, am I correct?”

“Nineteen years. And only in the last three I started to realize something was wrong – after my Emily had to take the test”.

“Emily?”  McCree asked, cocking an eyebrow.

Clementine didn’t answer straight away. She opened her pursed and slid a picture on the table.

Genji only caught a glimpse of it – a smiling young woman, with her mother’s auburn hair and dimples on her cheeks.

“My daughter. Her father left me when she was born, after he suspected she was different. Like me”. Steel hardened her voice, and when Jack turned to her with a perplexed look on his face she straightened her back. She blinked, and her pupils trembled minutely as she scanned his body. “You have a gun in your back pocket, with… I can see eight bullets in it. Seventy-two cents in coins, a key”, she went up to his chest and frowned. “A picture in your front pocket. It’s… oh”.

“Ok, we get it”, he stopped her, but she quickly turned to Gabe, blushing faintly. Jack crossed his arms and snarled, but Gabe hid a smile under his mustache.

“X-Rays, then?” Hanzo asked, rather impressed, and Clementine went on.

“My ex-husband didn’t know I was a mutant, or he wouldn’t have married me in the first place; he only found out while I was in labor. I don’t know where he is and I don’t care, and he never acknowledged Emily in fear she could turn out we were the same”.

“She’s so pretty”, Lena sighed when Lúcio slid the picture in front of her. It made him laugh uneasily.

“Sorry, she’s stuffed with painkillers, don’t mind her…”

“No, she’s right. Emily is a beautiful girl, and a smart, kind one”. Clementine took the picture back with a smile full of love. “She’d like you, probably”, and at this Lena grinned.  
  
Genji shivered with relief – this was the Lena he knew and loved, and he was so glad she was alive.

Clementine finished her coffee and stared at her daughter.

“She had no troubles with the test, and they returned her to me unharmed, but something – call it maternal instinct if you wish – bugged me. I never visited the labs, just Dreschner’s office and sometimes Hillridge’s”. At that mention, both Jack and Gabe tensed, and Genji felt his rage roar again – they, too, had suffered more than one could imagine.

“I waited and waited, but this doubt didn’t leave me alone… and eventually I realized that Emily was safe and sound, but what about her friends? Mutants were disappearing, and everything seemed too oddly connected to me”. She put the picture back in her purse and fumbled with more papers. “So I searched. Everywhere, everyone – they didn’t know I was a mutant, I’m too old for the Registration Act, and nobody asked me when I was hired. My mutation is not evident. Dreschner _trusted_ me”.

Genji let out a bitter chuckle, and everyone turned to him.

“Ignore me, but I find it hard to believe that a monster like that man could trust anyone…”

“He did trust me, because he thought I was harmless. It’s easy to dismiss a woman who just does her job and keeps a low profile”.

“Only a fool underestimates his co-workers”, Hanzo mumbled, rubbing his chin.

“First, I noticed a blood stain on his shirt, but I thought it was nothing. Then… then I heard a scream. And I couldn’t ignore what was going on anymore. I checked his desk when he called for me, and of course, he didn’t know I could see through solid surfaces. Eventually, I found the combination to his safe, and I made a copy of these”. She took a file from her purse and slammed it on the table. Everyone leaned forward to read the words on the first page, but Jack was – predictably enough – fast to snatch it.

His pale eyes went wide as he scanned the documents. Gabe looked smug, a grin playing on his lips.

“This is… this…”

Jack looked up and his lips trembled.

“There’s an address”.

“The Registration team’s labs. Where they take the mutants for their experiments, yes – they moved there something like two years ago”. Clementine pressed her lips together and flared her nostrils, suddenly rather terrifying for such a small woman. “I can’t stop them, and I don’t know what to do with this information since the police wouldn’t listen to me – but I saw Mr. Reyes helping a man, once. A mutant. And… and I thought…”

Many heads turned to Gabe, who lifted his hands with a smirk.

“Don’t look at me like that, I haven’t been sitting on my hands for all these months. Same goal, different methods, you know?”

“I had no trouble finding him, and now it’s all in your hands. You can do something”. Clementine bowed her head and sighed, and Genji felt the urge to go and hug her.

“Excuse me if I’m rude, but are you sure?” Winston peeked at the papers, fur fuzzy with excitement.

“I am. I… well, I checked on Google Maps, and the area is not tracked. It’s not a military zone officially, but… well, you know what I mean”.

“So we’re doin’ it? Like – now?” McCree smiled, looking first at Hanzo, then at Gabe.

“No”, said Jack, and in the same moment Gabe said “Yes”. They stared at each other, snorting, and Jack rolled his eyes.

“They’re exhausted, you can’t expect them to be at their best!”  
  
“I don’t need them at their best, they’re good enough as it is. And Angela can’t wait”.

“But if they get hurt…”

“I won’t let them. And – wait, are you saying you care that much about your squad, Morrison?”

“Of course I do! I’ve always cared, but you were too busy being an asshole to see it!”  
  
“Oh come on, you kept on nagging me about losing track of our goal and shit, and…”

“You two, stop bickering like the old couple you are!” Winston barked, not entirely annoyed. “I can drive you there this very moment, if you need it”.

“And we’re ready”, Genji said, his past exhaustion erased by the excitement. It was like electricity was sizzling in every person in the room, confusion and fear gone under the prospect of action.

_We can do it. We can bring Angela home._

He wouldn’t let himself indulge in more bloody thoughts of vengeance, not with Zenyatta beaming at his side, but the sudden possibility of a good outcome was overwhelming.

“Like this? We should just go out and knock on their door?” said Jack, opening his arms with a frown.

“Of course not, Goldilocks”. Gabe pushed his chair back and stretched his arms, and finally Genji saw him for what he’d always been – the man who’d saved him, all sarcasm and big heart. “We’ve stocked up on supplies. Grab some caffeine and let’s get going, kids”.

  


 

“And you call these _supplies_?”

Standing by the back of a rusty, anonymous white van parked some ten minutes from the base, Jack asked the same question for the fifth time in the last half an hour.

Handling a cartridge to Jesse, Gabe turned to look at him with his eyebrows arched.

“What should I call them, _bunnies_?”

Genji opened what looked like a black uniform and turned it in front of his nose.

“Are we to wear those?” he asked, not entirely annoyed. Gabe winked and pointed at the suit with the muzzle of a rifle.

“95% Kevlar, with reinforcements on the joints to increase mobility – should work pretty well in case of a transformation, Jess. Also, they look cool”.

“B-But where did you found all this stuff?” Lúcio was something more than surprised, and Genji couldn’t blame him. The back of the van sported a collection of weapons and military gear unsuitable for a civilian – but then he remembered: Gabriel Reyes was not a mere civilian.

“We went shopping. And by _we_ I mean _I_ , and by _shopping_ I mean I have some friends whose friends are in the black market, and they owed me a big, big favor”. Sombra, sitting on the roof of the van, dangled her feet and smirked.

“You stole this stuff”. Hanzo didn’t sound pleased, but he too checked on the uniform in his brother’s hands.

“Hey, this is mine, get one yourself!” he snapped, folding the Kevlar under his arm.

“ _Stealing_ is such a strong term… I prefer to call our action plan ‘long term loan’”, Sombra insisted. “They’re pretty comfortable, too, but make sure you pee before you wear them”.

The night was completely dark, except for the yellow lights in the distance, where the outskirts of town extended on the horizon. The chill in the air already retained the promise of dawn, and this meant one thing: the couldn’t waste any time.

“I’d like to, but what about these girls?” Genji asked, wiggling his wings.

“You lack imagination”. Gabe rummaged through a crate and emerged triumphantly wielding a long knife, its blade shining blueish in the dusk. “We’ll cut holes in the back. Come on, get dressed”.

With some mumbling the group obeyed. Genji took the knife from Gabe and crouched on the ground, cutting two long slashes in the back of the suit. The blade slid easily into the black material, and he was rather sure it was due to some peculiar quirk of the metal.

“So let’s sum this up, the plan is simple: Sombra stands back with miss Bishop and Lena – and Lúcio, of course…”

“You might need a doctor!” he protested, but Gabe shook his head.

“Yeah, but what we need more is someone who could take Lena and our friend Clementine to safety, should things turn bad. And if anyone gets hurt in action, we’d have no time for first aid”.

“But I…”

“Kid, thank you, but no”. It was Jack who spoke, this time, and Genji almost cut his fingers as the discussion distracted him.

Shit was getting real awfully quick. Yes, Gabe was right, but only now he realized they were going to risk their lives in a desperate rescue mission. No one was safe, and with a shiver he looked at his friends.

Any of them could die in the next hours.

He stubbornly resumed his operations, banishing the thought from his mind. It was pointless, and fear was not something he wanted to bring into battle.

Lúcio tried to speak again, standing in his black pants and green top amongst the others who were getting dressed, but only sighed and lowered his eyes. Gabe smiled and walked to him, putting his clawed hand on his shoulder.

“Hey, tadpole… we’re not leaving you behind. And if you know me just a little, you won’t think I’m saying this just to comfort you. You’re in charge of Lena’s and Clementine’s safety, as much as Sombra will be watching over us from remote. You’re the only one who could do this”.

“I don’t want to leave you all…”

“You won’t. And we’ll need your help when we bring you Angela, most likely. Can you do it, kid?”

Lúcio sniffed and tilted his head, his dreadlocks bouncing on his shoulder.

“Of course I can, but keep in mind that I’d rather be out there with you. And if anyone gets killed, I’ll consider you responsible for it. Got it?”

Gabe threw his head back and laughed, slapping Lúcio’s shoulder so hard he staggered.

“I like you. Deal, I’ll do the impossible to save everyone’s ass”.

“Fine then”. He crossed his arms and nodded, more convinced than before.

“You done with the pep talk?” McCree pulled his t-shirt off his head, and Genji bit the inside of his cheek not to grin at the flush on his brother’s cheeks. Despite everything, Hanzo seemed unable to look away from him, his suit pulled up to his waist.

“Hanzo, stop eye-fucking Jesse and come here if you want some room for your wings”, Genji said, and Hanzo blushed some more.

“Alright, back to business. Sombra will keep in touch via these”, and Gabe handled the team small earbuds with a flickering blue led, “and will operate through the base’s connection system. We will go there by car and Winston will drive us back here with the helicarrier – if the damned thing is still working…”

“It is, and don’t you ever dare to speak of my lady like this”, Winston grunted. No suit for him, he was way too big.

“As for us all, we must get in. Once there, Sombra will send us a map of the base, and then… we’ll make do. Sorry, guys, but my plan doesn’t go further than this”.

“Isn’t this how we usually plan our missions? Get in, see how things go, solve problems and then get out. We’re fine, Gabe”, and Jack patted Gabe’s shoulder, leaving his hand there.

Genji wanted to offer some sassy commentary on their relationship status, but something bounced at the corner of his eye. He turned to see Zenyatta squirming to get into his uniform, definitely too short for him. He pouted a bit and pulled up the zip.

“Don’t look at me like that, I know I’m ridiculous…”

It could’ve been true for anyone else – the black suit ended a good five inches above Zenyatta’s bony ankles and slender wrists – but Genji, wiggling his wings in the back holes, could only smile.

“No, you’re cute. Are you sure you don’t want to stay here?” His right wing popped free, and he flapped it briefly – yes, no problem with movement.

Zenyatta gave him a very dirty look and crouched to tie his shoes.

“Please, don’t. I’m not leaving you alone”.

“Alright, alright, just asking…”

As usual, Zenyatta’s annoyance didn’t last long, and he smiled at Genji.

Around them, everyone was finishing preparing themselves. Amélie was standing behind Gabe, rifle in hand and her tiny spider eyes gleaming on her forehead. McCree was busy helping Hanzo closing the zip, something that required some effort on his brother’s side.

“It’s… tight. And hot”, he grumbled. McCree cheerfully slapped his ass, making Hanzo yelp and jump on his feet.

“I agree on the hot part. Try not to stand in front of me, or I’ll be mighty distracted”.

“Jesse!”

But McCree silenced him with a kiss.

“You two there, no making out before a mission”, Gabe pointed out matter-of-factly. McCree chuckled and pulled back, and Hanzo barely concealed a smile.

Some more ten minutes and they were ready. Lúcio lengthy recommended them to be careful, stuffing their pockets with whatever medical supply he could lay his hands on.

“There’s something to help coagulation, in case any of you bled. And adrenaline. And… ah, yes, some syringes, you can’t drink that stuff, and… and…” He dropped his shoulders and failed at a smile. “Just try not to get shot, please”.

“We’ll do our best, but thank you”. Jack slid a red visor on his eyes and ruffled Lúcio’s hair with a grin. “Now go, the two of you”, he added, nodding at Sombra.

“You all have a phone, I’ll send you the maps as soon as you’re in. And don’t worry about being shielded, I’m better than those childish tricks”. She jumped from the roof and went at Lúcio’s side. Her eyes looked more vulnerable, almost sweet. “If any of you die, I’m gonna be really pissed”.

“Aw, you care about us, _Olivia_ ”, McCree teased her, causing a profuse flow of Spanish profanities.

“Ready, Overwatch?” Jack put his gun on his shoulder and pointed to the hidden hangar.

Genji stood up, and now all that nervous need to laugh was gone.

“Let’s get shit done. We can do this”, Gabe said.

And Genji, shivering with excitement, prayed he was right.

 

 

˜˜˜˜˜  


 

The rumbling of the engine made the back of the van rattle. Hanzo sat squeezed between Genji and Amélie, his hands clutching the rifle he’d been given. Sound waves trembled loud in his ears, but they were not enough to drown the cacophony of his thoughts.

It was a good plan, and the only one at hand, so there was no room for being picky: an assault to the base, with Winston and their helicarrier to carry them back to safety once everything was done.

Right now, though, Hanzo couldn’t focus on a positive outcome.

He took a deep breath and closed his eyes.

So many people he cared for to protect. His ultimate chance to atone for his past sins. He was a decent marksman, both out of his training back in the Shimada days and his years on the road, but was he going to be enough? He was not ready to see his family bleed and die, and even if this time it was not his fault he could already feel the bite of guilt.

There had been grim jokes and laughter before they’d set in motion, a natural reaction to stress and to the not so unseemly prospect of death, but once the door had closed everyone had fallen silent.

It was time, for them all, to make peace with their lives, in case they were to abandon them sooner than they’d thought.

The van jumped on a bump on the road, and Hanzo, startled, opened his eyes.

A pair of amber ones, lightly crinkling at the corners in a soft smile, met his stare. McCree, sitting across from him, stretched his leg out and brushed his foot against Hanzo’s calf.

A different kind of ache settled in Hanzo’s chest as he looked at McCree, unable to move his lips in anything resembling a smile.

_I want to live. You’re part of my life – you’re part of me, and I’m not ready to let go of this happiness I may not deserve._

McCree tilted his head and grinned, dark locks falling on his forehead under the brim of his hat, and Hanzo resisted the urge to kneel and kiss him.

For now, at least, because in the long drive to the mysterious address miss Bishop had provided them his brain got stuck on a single, burning thought. It was a vague picture, and at the same time it ignited his steel determination – one last moment for him, for them before they went and chase the end.

The van took an abrupt turn to the right and Hanzo staggered forward, holding out an arm to stop his brother’s fall, and the gird dividing them from the front seats opened with a rattle.

“Ok, kids”, Gabe said. “We’re almost there, if Jack’s terrible driving won’t kill us before we’re on the spot”.

“Stop it you, you’re a worse driver than me”, was the grumbling reply, and Gabe smirked.

“Anyway, get ready. Snipers on the high ground, the rest of the troops infiltrating the base and so on – just keep your comms on for any change of plans, alright?”

A muttered chorus of assent vibrated through the group, and Gabe squinted.

“Not like this. A ‘yes, sir’ would sound better, don’t you think?” And the whole team, with come chuckling on McCree’s side, let out a more convincing reply. Gabe nodded and winked, and for the first time, looking at his determined expression, Hanzo felt sincerely relieved: the man knew what to do, and he made Jack the person he was meant to be, and not just some bitter ghost of his past self.

When they stopped and the doors opened, the first grey of a dull dawn crawled upon the horizon. There was an unusual chill in the air, or maybe it was just his nerves playing him tricks; Hanzo shivered as he dismounted the van, eyes scanning the bleary environment around them. They were high on some hills, and San Angeles was just an orange blur in the distance; all around them where deserted, decayed old buildings, and none of them seemed suitable for a secret laboratory.

Jack touched his comm and frowned.  
  
“Sombra, you copy?”

“ _Claro que sì, soldado_ . _What do you need?”_

“A confirmation. Are we in the right place?”

Hanzo moved to McCree’s side, and while everyone was too busy listening to Sombra’s chattering he slid his hand in the other man’s. That small thought he’d been harboring now roared in his throat, struggling to find a form in his words. McCree turned to look at him and slowly caressed his wrist.

 _“Yeah, you are. Move twenty feet to the left and the guards will see you, but for now you’re safe. It’s down the hill, the building with the green graffiti”_ . Sombra went quiet for a moment, her voice not even remotely as mocking as it used to be. “ _There are offices upstairs, but the labs are in the basement_ ”.

“Good. We’re getting in”. Jack tapped his comm and turned to the squad. “Amélie, up there”, and he pointed to the building to their left. The woman acknowledged him with a curt nod, slung her rifle on her back and simply walked away. Hanzo didn’t hold back a soft awed gasp when he saw her cast a spider web from her fingers and lift herself to the roof.

“Cool, isn’t she? But no Spider Man jokes, if you want to live”, said McCree with a chuckle. Hanzo shook his head and tried to focus back on Jack, who was now speaking to him.

“You, stay here and cover us. Genji, up on the right: if things get bad, be ready to swoop upon whoever stands in the way. We’ll keep in touch in case we need your direct intervention, but don’t risk your life, agreed?”

“Got it”. Genji walked past Jack and Gabe, his wings nearly brushing the ground, and stopped to steal a quick kiss and some hushed words from Zenyatta.

“Zen, I wish I didn’t have to take you to the most dangerous area, but you’re the only one here with some medical skills, and we may need your help. If not for us, for those we’re going to set free”. Jack slid his visor on and patted the young man on the shoulder. “We’ll do our best to keep you safe”.

“I’m a pacifist, but I can fight. Still, I know I’ll be in good hands”, and his lips parted in his bright smile – but Gabe’s, barely hidden in his beard, was even brighter.

“McCree, you’re with us. Just like the old times, right?” he said, holding out a hand. McCree didn’t hesitate and took Gabe’s wrist in a warrior-like grip.

“Gonna take your old ass back home, boss”, he grinned, and Hanzo felt fear invade him once more.

_Now or never._

“Jesse… hold on. Just a second”, he said, and he hated how weak and high-pitched his voice sounded. To his surprise, though, no one objected him. Gabe and Jack gave him a quick look and took Zenyatta away.

“Three minutes, you two. We’ll be waiting down the street”, Jack said, turning his back onhim.

McCree rubbed the back of his neck and waited until the last of their dark shapes was gone, and then he turned to Hanzo.

“Thank you, cupcake. I needed one last kiss”, and Hanzo went swiftly in his arms. A kiss was not what he had in mind – not just that, actually – but the first brush of his chapped lips soothed a bit of the chaos in his soul. He wrapped his arms around McCree’s waist and held him close, and their tongues tasted like despair and stubborn hope.

They had no time, and he had something important to say, so he broke away too soon.

He bent his neck upward, with McCree still holding him, and he stared at his face – that beautiful, beloved smile dancing in his unruly beard, the strong line of his jaw, his eyes gleaming in the shadows of his hat.

McCree kissed the tip of his nose and smiled.

“Look at us – we picked a wicked time to develop a crush, didn’t we?”

Hanzo frowned and shook his head, leaving McCree embrace, and took a step back. The absence of the warm arms encircling him felt like falling into a frozen abyss, but he needed space to tell the truth.

“I didn’t _choose_ ”, he said. His voice failed him and he clenched his fists, looking down at his feet. “I… I didn’t choose to be attracted to you, or to let my heart catch fire anytime you smiled at me. I didn’t choose to have a crush because it’s… it’s not a crush”.

Another deep breath that made his wings flutter. He swallowed a lump of sentiment and shot his head up, to stare at McCree’s face behind a veil of tears.

“But I choose _now_ . I l-love you, and this might be my last chance to tell you so – I choose to fight your same battle, and to wait for you here or wherever we go _after_. And…”

He couldn’t finish. McCree cupped his face in his hands and closed his mouth with a kiss, lips trembling and eyes squeezed shut. Hanzo let out a sob against his mouth and grabbed his shoulders, holding him close and closer still, until he couldn’t understand where his body ended and McCree’s began.

Their kiss was deep and rough and desperate, and it was perfect. It bruised Hanzo’s lips and branded his heart, because no matter what awaited them – life or death were such small things compared to the feeling roaring deep inside him – he was _his_. McCree bit his lower lip and backed away minutely, their foreheads touching.

“Love you too, Hanzo. Yer the most beautiful thing that’s ever happened to me, and… and I’m with you. ‘Til death do us apart”.

Hanzo, despite the tears shining on his lashes, laughed quietly.

“That might not be a very long time…”

“Yer not getting’ rid of me easily, darlin’. In this life or the other”. One last brush of lips, light as a feather, and he took Hanzo’s hands as he stepped back. He kissed his knuckles and winked, and Hanzo sniffled for the unexpected surge of pure happiness they shared, even here, at the end of their world.

He reluctantly let go of McCree’s grip, and he realized that they both were having troubles looking away from each other – but their time was over, and they had a friend to rescue. McCree tipped his hat with a small bow and turned around, a black shadow sliding away in the darkness.

For what seemed like hours Hanzo stood still, staring at the void where McCree’ had disappeared.

 _I love you_ , he thought again, and the words shone like embers in his heart. He wiped a tear from his face and savored the feelings a second longer.

_If I’m to die, I want this to be my last thought before the great unknown._

“ _You’re an old sap, brother_ ”.

Genji’s voice in his ear snatched him from his fantasy; jumping on his feet, Hanzo fumbled to get the rifle and crouched behind the van.

“Please, tell me you weren’t listening…”

“ _Nope, but I was looking, and now I have diabetes_ ”.

“You’re one to talk!”

“ _Shut your trap, chuckles, it’s not always about me. Are you ok?”_

Hanzo smiled and steadied his grip on the rifle. He crawled to the edge of the cliff and looked up – yes, there he was, little more than a lump in the shadows. Genji was kneeling on the roof of the nearby building, and he knew that he would see Amélie too to his other side, had he checked.

“Nervous”.

“ _Good, it means you’re not dumb. I’ve got your back, Hanzo, don’t you ever forget this_ ”.

And this simple and terrifying truth mended the last of the cracks inside him. The Shimadas were back together, beyond their own troubles and ready to fight for a better world. It was more than he could have expected, and a happy ending on its own.

“I never doubted that”, he whispered, and Genji chuckled back before drifting away into silence.

Hanzo listened to that emptiness and felt an unnatural calm descend upon him. He breathed slowly through his nose, closed his eyes for a second and let his heart quiet down.

 _Now_ he was ready.

He blinked and glanced through the scope, focusing on the seemingly deserted landscape before him.

As his whole determination and training ran down his nerves, he squinted and started to see something.

There were black silhouettes moving around the building, their shapes clearly visible now that his eyes were adjusting to the light.  

Sombra spoke from the comm, but he was past the point of startling.

 _“The infantry has reached the lab. They’re gonna be in position in one… two… ok, here they are_ ”.

“ _First sentinel by the main door – it’s mine_ ”. Amélie’s elegant voice floated to his ears, and Hanzo didn’t turn to check on her. Eye still on the scope, he didn’t hear the silenced gunshot, but saw one of the shadows crumple to the ground.

One down. Hanzo tried to swallow, but his mouth felt dry – _it has begun_.

He counted to three, and then to ten, and he waited with every muscle in his body clenching in anticipation of whatever was about to happen. He could see four more guards patrolling the perimeter, and how long until they discovered their dead companion?

“ _Easy… wait until they’re in position_ ”, Sombra said in his ear, and he waited.

Position. What position? He wasn’t trained for this, it was his first time on the battlefield – and he was Hanzo Shimada, he thought with a surge of pride that made him grit his teeth. Disciplined since birth to be the best.

He snarled and aimed, and his hands didn’t tremble when his fingers found the trigger. Still no signs of awareness from the sentinels, and now it was about time to break the stasis.

He fired.

The shot reverberated through his bones up to his shoulder, and he never blinked. Another man fell to the ground, and this time his death didn’t go unnoticed.

Hanzo ducked and waited, and soon a distant scream reached him; with a beastly grin he enjoyed the moment the sound died, and with the corner of his eye he almost saw Amélie slip back in position.

“A good shot”, he said to himself, and his heart skipped a beat when Genji spoke in the comm.

“ _Will you two leave one of those guys for me? I haven’t got any yet_!”

“Sorry, I can’t hear you over the sound of my own marksmanship”, he whispered back, swallowing back the will to laugh.

“ _Hey, Dratini bros, stop chatting. Heads up, Gabe and the others are near the entrance, soon you won’t get to tell them from the bad guys_ ”, Sombra said. Hanzo nodded as if she could see him, and quietly turned around to check on Genji.

At first, everything seemed alright, all things considered – the ruins of the empty buildings were a grey leviathan in the cold light of a gloomy dawn, and the chaos from downstairs was not going to reach them anytime soon. But then Hanzo saw something move on the roof at his right, and his blood chilled.

Genji stood up, his dark wings spreading slowly from his back. A gargoyle of darkness cut against the grey sky. With a gasp he fumbled for his comm, pressing the button.

“Genji, what are you doing?” he whispered urgently, and his brother’s clear, loud voice replied him.

“ _Heard Sombra? Zenyatta’s on the target, and I’m not leaving him alone_ ”.

Jack’s hushed growl broke the communication, gunshots highlighting his words.

“ _Stay at your place, Sparrow_ !”  
  
“ _Sorry, 76, but I’m no soldier, and I suck at taking orders…”_

“Genji, no!”

Hanzo forgot caution and yelled in terror, but suddenly the line fell silent. High on the ruins, Genji walked backward and then started to run to the edge.

Time stopped for a moment when he leaped and fell into the air, wings folded to his sides. Like a blade, he cut into the wind and dived down to the secret base. Hanzo roused with a growl and threw the rifle to the ground, hurrying out of his hiding spot.

“ _No! Hanzo, don’t move!”_   Sombra sounded genuinely shocked. “ _They’re not in yet, you can’t throw our plan to the wind like this!”_

“It’s my brother you’re talking about”, he snarled, hands trembling as he stared at Genji glide upon one of the armed enemies and knock him out, before rising again in a swift parabola.

“ _C’mon man, don’t fuck everything up! He’s doing ok, look at him, please_ please _don’t make me play the bad cop, and do as you’re told_!” Sombra now was something worse than worried and was straight up begging him. Hanzo had to admit she was right, Genji was an incredible flyer and his rushed action was probably distracting the security enough to cover the rest of the squad’s movements – but it came with a price.

Still shaking on the verge of the hill, Hanzo watched his brother stop mid-air with powerful flaps of his wings, a demon-like creature with clenched fists and a fierce grin on his face. A thunder rolled among the heavy clouds, and its echo covered the explosions from below. With his heart beating so fast he couldn’t breathe, Hanzo ignored the drizzle falling from the sky, shrouding the world in a pale mist that made the red laser shine even brighter.

He let out a strangled noise, and somewhere above the noises around him, Sombra was speaking again in frenzied tones. He couldn’t hear her, enraptured by the awful red dot marking his brother.

“ _No no no Hanzo don’t…”_

“Genji!” He roared, but it was too late. Just another gunshot, not different from the countless others now banging by the labs, and Genji stumbled midway through another sprint. He seemed to stand motionless, floating over fifty feet from the ground, and then he crumpled.

He fell, and Hanzo jumped.

Hanzo barely realized he was not standing on solid ground anymore. His brain was still processing the dreadful fall of his brother, but his wings seemed to have a mind of their own, and now they were spurring him forward and up, in a desperate flight under the rain. The wind caught in his hair and made his eyes water, and he didn’t care – not about the tears streaking his cheekbones and temples, not about the utter terror he knew he _had_ to feel, now that he was darting by the side of the hill, the ground coming nearer and nearer with every bat of his wings.  

All that mattered was that Genji was dropping down in an uncoordinated tangle, his injured wing limp and weird-looking. Twenty more feet and he would have crashed upon the rocks, and Hanzo let out a furious howl as his flight turned into a stoop.

Fifteen feet – a guard ran from the shadows and lifted his rift. A huge, swift shadow jumped seemingly out of nowhere, and Hanzo never turned to see what was happening.

Twelve feet. Hanzo felt the muscles on his back scream in pain as his wings bent backward, turning him into an arrow traveling at an insane speed in the rain, until he opened them back to stop abruptly.

Genji was right above him, but he had no time to think – just to spread his arms and wait for the unavoidable result.

He didn’t have to wait for more than a heartbeat: Genji crashed upon him, and next thing Hanzo knew was he couldn’t breathe. The impact emptied his lungs and crushed his ribs, and for what seemed like a small eternity he forgot the very concept of space. He was made of fear, and he barely felt the dull pain flashing through his whole body. His arms were heavy when he wrapped them around his brother’s shoulders, nose and brain intoxicated by the smell of copper around them, and then he stopped feeling anything at all.

A loud thud, an explosion of red light and black patches, and for a blessed second nothing hurt anymore. He was floating, and he could clearly see himself and Genji from somewhere above where they were supposed to be. How curious, he was not surprised or scared – they were but a tangle of bones and muscles, a messy hybrid of two different people drenched in blood and water, but it was alright. Genji was alive after all, panting and whimpering softly in the cage of his arms, and if Genji was to survive then his job was done.

_You’re safe, little Sparrow._

Out of his body, Hanzo smiled. He could let go now, and the moment the thought formed in his foggy mind a switch clicked inside him.

_Let go. Of this fight. Of Jesse?_

An unrelenting force awoke around him, and Hanzo found himself dragged back to his broken self.

Suddenly, all he knew was pain. A white-hot blaze of suffering crawled up from his leg to his stomach, and he wanted to cough and retch for the blinding nausea that gripped him, but he couldn’t breathe at all. He panted, but even that was impossibly hard, and not just because of the heavy body on top of him.

A groan, a raucous curse in Japanese, and from the depths of his maddening suffering he felt the weight slide off his chest.

Someone was calling him, a slick, hot hand trembled on his face.

“ _Anija_ … fuck, Hanzo, look at me!” Tears in that well known young voice, rain pooling in his eye sockets and mouth, and he needed air so bad – but breathing meant going back to reality, and such reality hurt too much.

Genji.

Genji was there. He was calling his name, pinching him with rough fingers, forcing him back to life.

Hanzo wheezed and kicked weakly at the ground, sliding in the mud, and the first lungful of air enhanced the unbearable pain in his body. He felt his face convulse into a grimace and tasted blood on his tongue, but the frenzied sob so near his skin called him back.

Another breath, and this time he could almost fight back the cry invading his throat. One more, and he could open his eyes.

His brother’s face was doubled before his eyes, deadly pale and with his green hair sticking to his brow.

Hanzo’s teeth chattered as Genji slumped at his side, panting fast and with his hand clutched to his right shoulder. Blood – so much blood.

“You… you piece of shit, you risked your l-life…”

“Yeah…” he almost chuckled, but the red halo of wounds he couldn’t see was still surrounding him. He’d landed badly, but still managed to protect Genji with his body, and now he was paying his fee. His mutation was working his charm already, and the angry sting of half a dozen broken ribs was fading away; the bruises and scratches were gone, and his head and back didn’t seem to be too badly injured – he could move his arms, and his left leg hurt so fucking much he could focus on little more. He stood there, the gods knew how close to their enemies, until he felt he could move to a sitting position without throwing up.

And when he did so, head throbbing and mouth full of water and blood, he made the awful mistake of checking the source of the burning in his leg.

It was broken. Horribly so, a white splinter of bone piercing muscle and skin and Kevlar, a crimson puddle mixing with the mud under his knee. Hanzo held his breath when a firework of white lights exploded at the corner of his eyes, and he just couldn’t look away.

Genji was speaking again, someone was screaming and another thunder shook the skies. It was day, and not day at all, and for him the whole world was grey and weird and distant.

_No, not like this. It’s nothing, and you’re not done yet._

He swallowed trauma and horror and clutched his calf, turning to Genji.

“Hey?”

“They shot m-me…” he muttered, rocking back and forth on his knees. Blood was trailing between his fingers, not a spurt but a thick trickle, black and then suddenly bright red when another lightning scarred the sky.

“You don’t say… Genji, you must help me, or I won’t be able to take you somewhere safe…”

A manic grin played on Genji’s lips, and he looked sideways to his brother.

“Stop playing the hero”.

“Stop trying to get yourself killed, then”. He squirmed and gasped at the sparkles of pain from his broken limb. “If-If I don’t put this back in place, I won’t get to run, and it’s healing already”.

Genji’s eyes went wide, and he shook his head.

“I can’t…”

“Hold on my ankle – I need a second, nothing more”. He reached out and took Genji’s hand, hurrying him. “Do it. Please”.

“I don’t know what to do!”

“Trust me. Just… just trust me, even if I don’t deserve it”.

A siren sounded in the distance for a second, silenced by a gunshot. Hanzo stared into Genji’s eyes, big and bloodshot, pupils blown in shock, until his brother nodded once.

_Bring it on._

Long, shaky fingers wrapped around his leg; Genji was still bleeding from a crude gash on his shoulder and wing, but he was not dying. Not yet, and their only chance of survival required them both to find the courage to do it.

“Ok?”

“Ok”.

Hanzo closed his eyes and inhaled a deep lungful of air.

_Either I just do it, or I’ll never have the guts to._

He rolled to the side, and the creaking, wet sound of the two bone stumps fitting back together disappeared under the animalistic roar that erupted from his mouth.

Everything went black for a moment, the suffering magnifying and filling every part of his being. The scream carried on until his throat burned and he tasted tears, oblivious of secrecy and stealth.

He cried and cried, too weak to sit up straight or to control the jerks of his body, or to hear Genji’s hurried words. And as it has started, the pain subsided, and all at once he could breathe again.

Only, they were not alone anymore, as a second voice added up to Genji’s desperate pleas.

“… do something, please!”

“Be quiet, love, he’s ok – he’s going to be ok, listen to me!”

“B-But he’s… he’s…”

Hanzo trembled and took a deep breath, as if he’d just emerged from cold, deep waters, and when he finally opened his eyes he saw a familiar lanky shape hunched over Genji.

“I’m here, can you hear me? Genji, dearest, look at me – like this. You’re doing great, come on”.

Zenyatta’s slender frame faintly glowed in gold, and slowly Genji’s harsh breaths calmed down to a deep panting. Hanzo slapped his own face to remove the hair sticking to his eyes, and with every passing minute his leg healed, the throbbing fading into an unpleasant sensation of crawling under his skin as the wound closed under the torn Kevlar.  
  
Eventually, he found the willpower to sit up, and even to tentatively move his leg.

He grimaced at the first try, but even that nuisance quickly disappeared, and he could focus on his brother.

“Zenyatta’s right”, he croaked, flexing his wings and finding no further damage. Genji sobbed softly, fingers still digging into his shoulder, and Zenyatta turned to look at him.

“What happened?”

“It’s a long story, and I fear we have no time to waste”. Getting to his feet proved harder than he’d imagined, so he didn’t refuse Zenyatta’s helping hand. “Thank you. The others…”

“They’re in, and last time I saw them they were…”

 _“… all alive, you pair of shitheads_ ”, Sombra hissed through the comm, startling Hanzo. “ _I swear to God, I’ll rip your balls out and feed them to my goldfish once you get back – and be glad Jack and Gabe are too busy searching the first level to pay you two much attention!”_

Alive. Hanzo found himself smiling despite everything, and at once his strength was back.

“Good. Genji’s wounded, but I’m going in”. He didn’t listen to Sombra’s bickering and looked down. “Zen, can you take care of him?”

“I… I…” His eyes, so big and young and innocent, danced on Hanzo’s face, and he slowly shook his head. “I can’t leave him, but neither I can abandon the others, they… they might need me, and…”

“Pick me up”, Genji snapped, his face still horribly pale but lips pressed into a stubborn grimace. “I can walk, and I’m not dying – I just can’t fly. And I promise, you won’t have to worry about me being a burden”.

“Genji, no…”

Genji silenced Zenyatta with a hard, quick kiss, and with a moan he stood up, a bit unsteady.

“Hanzo, go. And whatever happens, remember that you’ve done more than enough to make up for your past bullshit”. He cracked a smile, and Hanzo grinned. He’d never felt less inclined to displays of any form of joy, but he couldn’t stop either.

“Sombra? Where’s the way in?”

“ _A la verga, pendejo! I’m so sick of taking care of you kindergarten brats you have no idea… alright, alright – let me check… no, Tracer, stay down and mind your own business! Ok, there’s a short stairway and a red door, the way’s clear”._

“She means everyone above ground is dead”, explained Zenyatta, taking Genji’s unharmed arm and throwing it around his shoulders.

“Ah. Thank you”. Hanzo tilted his head left and right, cracking his neck, and stared at the two people at his side one last time.

Genji snarled, his face hardened in a very Shimada look, and Zenyatta sunk his teeth into his lower lip.

“Please, stay safe…”

“I won’t, but I’m not so easy to kill”.

And before he could lose his determination, or remember how much they had to lose, he turned around.

First he limped, then his flesh and bones gained back their usual efficiency, and he broke into an unsteady run. One step, and then another, and eventually he sprinted on the wet ground, rain soaking his hair and skin. Corpses were scattered all around – he counted six, and then stopped caring – and the red door appeared in front of him.

Ajar.

_Never let it be said that a Shimada turns down a challenge._

His friends and the man he loved were in there. And he was determined not to be a mere witness of their war.


	15. This is war

 

[This is war](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hMAVLXk9QWA)

 

He was in his element.  
  
The blue nitrile gloves embracing his hands, the smell of disinfectant going straight to his head, the clean white lab coat buttoned over his cardigan. And most of all, the vials of blood still warm in his palms.  
  
Dreschner turned his back to his sample 410a. A part of him wanted to proceed to the most exciting part of his job – a lancet, the crude white lights of his surgery room, the prospect of a body literally open for him to discover all the secrets it held – but rushing things was always a bad idea when it came to science.  
  
The muffled voice behind him didn’t deserve his attention. 410a was an overall easy subject, although it was prone to fighting back its guards. Right now, one of the mercenaries working for the project tried his best to keep his hand on the target’s mouth. Dreschner briefly turned his head – no matter how unwilling he was to give the mutant any of his time, good manners were a staple of his personality; the blonde mutant glared at him with furious blue eyes, its blonde hair a tangle around its face.  
  
“My dear 410a, I suggest you stop struggling”, he said, sliding the vials in his pocket. “I promise you it won’t take long”.  
  
Or maybe it will.  
  
The infinite possibilities that body held were an intoxicating reality he was determined to uncover until the very end. The cure for the killer disease of the last two centuries was right at arm’s reach, and glory awaited him.  
  
He only had to hope he’d manage to keep Hillridge out of his business.  
  
As he walked down the corridor, among two lines of cages with subjects at various degrees of sedation, Dreschner evaluated his working plan. Being on his own, he needed time to fully process his samples, so a form of preservation was recommended.  
  
_Not that I’ll have any trouble finding more material,_ he chuckled to himself, thinking about the living blood bag hidden by the door he closed behind him. A piercing shriek in what sounded much like German echoed from the cages, and it was not enough to spoil his good humor. He regretted not being able to capture the other mutant, the one with some intriguing time-bending powers Hillridge would have been smitten with, but one couldn’t have everything, after all.  
  
He found himself humming a tune as he walked his way back to the stairs that led to the offices. He briefly considered asking Clementine for a cup of tea before getting to work, and, when he remembered her untimely flu, sighed. He missed her already, with her little displays of care and attention.  
  
He was whistling under his breath, his hand extended to the handle of the metal door leading to the upper floor, when a howling sound tore a squeal from his throat.  
  
Alarm. Intruders.  
  
His heart jumped in his chest and sweat instantly bloomed on his back and forehead – and then reason kicked in. A nervous laughter bubbled up his lips and he shook his head.  
  
Of _course_ it was a malfunctioning of the security system; the mere idea of anyone approaching the building and coming so near to trigger the alarm was preposterous, he’d made sure his fort was impregnable. He took some seconds to steady the rhythm of his breath and patted his chest to reassure himself his samples were still there, and when he finally pushed the handle the deafening sound silenced with a last high-pitched squeak.  
  
_See, Elias? It was nothing_ , he said to himself with a shiver. He’d better regain his composure before he reached the working station, because using a pipette with shaky hands was a really bad idea, but then again…  
  
“Dreschner!”  
  
Colonel Hillridge’s voice rumbled down the halls. In any other situation he’d have rolled his eyes at the sound, even more annoying than the howling of the siren, but right now there was something off in the woman’s tone. Something that made his shirt damp with sweat and deprived him of any form of snarky comeback as he turned around to face the colonel storming the corridor.  
  
She was wielding a gun, and her face seemed carved in stone.  
  
“What’s this nonsense?” he croaked, but before he could realize how weak his voice sounded, Hillridge grabbed his elbow and pulled him back to the cage section. She looked desperate, lips pale and eyes sparkling with tears.  
  
“We’re under attack”, she hissed, dragging him along with such strength he stumbled and doubled over. The vials fell from his pocket and rolled on the concrete, and the sight of his precious samples scattered on the floor gave him enough strength to stop abruptly and snatch his arm from the colonel’s grip.  
  
“Have you gone mad?” he said, crouching to retrieve the test tubes. “You almost made me lose my…”  
  
A brutal hand closed on the back of his neck, and Dreschner found himself hauled on his feet and crushed against the wall. Hillridge pressed his face hard, his cheek hurt and his brain refused to take in the assault to his senses. Except for the sharp voice growling in his ear.  
  
“You heard me, you fucking nerd – the base’s under attack. Now you either come with me or you’re _dead_ ”.  
  
Dreschner tried to wrestle himself free, with pathetically little success. He muttered through squished lips: “… let me go”.  
  
“If I know you, and I do, you’ll ignore my orders and…”  
  
“Let me go or I can’t follow any of your goddamned orders!”  
  
The grip on his neck subsided and he staggered to his side, his ears burning and his head spinning.  
  
Was it possible? Unlikely, yes, but dared he admit it was beyond the realm of possibilities to imagine someone smart and skilled enough to break through the security system?  
He hated to admit it, but it was more than possible.  
  
“The backdoor’s blocked. Come with me if you want to…”  
  
Dreschner silenced Hillridge with a quick gesture.  
  
“No – no no, don’t be stupid, even if I know it’s asking you a lot. I can’t leave!”  
  
“Oh, fine then! You want to play the hero and save your samples, right?” Hillridge was an unpleasant mixture of white skin and purple stains that made her square face look almost beastly. She pointed the gun at Dreschner and a muscle twitched on her jaw. “I can ease your passing”.  
  
“Just shut your foul mouth, you disgusting animal!” he screamed. Panic was gone, and in its place the bare necessities pressed on in his brain. “If someone’s coming, you don’t want them to find the documents in my safe!”  
  
Something exploded outside. A man yelled, and then fell silent. Dreschner locked eyes with Hillridge and time seemed to stop.  
  
Dear God, he hated her so much – and yet they were together in this disaster.  
  
He stared at her hard face until he saw her lower her gun, something that tickled his sarcasm.  
  
“You seem to be able to recognize simple reasonings. This puts you somewhere above rats, I think…”  
  
“Go fuck yourself, Dreschner. I hope you die in the most painful way”, she growled, so near his face Dreschner smelled smoke and terror in her breath.  
  
“I sure wish you an embarrassing demise, my dear lady. And now please excuse me, but I have a scandal to avoid”, he said in a cold voice, turning his back to her and still clutching his test tubes.  
  
Elias Dreschner, MD, was not an athlete. He had asthma and put no trust in big buff people with too many muscles for their tiny brains. Now, though, his legs sprinted him with an energy he thought impossible.  
  
Two, three steps at a time, lungs burning and synapses sizzling with questions, he reached the upper floor avoiding by inches a wave of mercenaries with their black rifles.  
  
_How_ ? How was this even possible?  
  
Doubts crowded his mind as he fumbled in his pocket to find the keys to his office. A leak was sadly a possibility, but he really couldn’t find a believable breach in their security to explain such eventuality. And of course, no one knew – no one could have known except for himself and Hillridge, who had all the flaws in the world but was not suicidal. She cared about her reputation too much for such a gesture.  
  
Panting, he hit the door with his shoulder and sent it slamming against the wall.  
  
Everything was fine, here. If he closed the door and put his hands on his ears he could ignore the shootings downstairs, the stench of blood now floating around. The impending tragedy. The desk was immaculate, his planner at its own place, his blue and red pens where they were supposed to be.  
  
The safe was closed.  
  
The sigh of relief he let out was almost a moan. He closed the door and ran to the wall, and in his frenzy, he hit the corner of the desk with his hip, but the resulting shot of pain that radiated down his leg was a little thing, as unimportant was the scattering of papers and rolling of pens the impact caused.  
  
Numbers and letters sparkled in his mind. Of course, he was the only one who knew the combination, and any attempt from an outsider would have triggered the alarm. No, it was alright, the proof of his not so transparent work was safe. He opened the heavy metal panel and grabbed the files.  
  
1a, 1b, 1c – all the way down to 2 and 3 and…  
  
4d.  
  
4f.

4e.  
  
“No…”  
  
Wrong. It was so horribly wrong, this was not his doing. He checked again, and again, until the numbers blurred in front of his eyes.  
  
Dr. Dreschner knew he would never put his papers in the wrong order. Never!  
  
But who else, then? He had the only copy of the keys to this office, who…  
  
No. No, this couldn't be.  
  
The world turned grey and weird, the sounds of the manslaughter downstairs an echo muffled by the humming of blood in his ears.   
  
Not the only keys.  
  
Clementine had the others.  
  
His Clementine. His personal assistant, one he’d almost called a friend. And no matter how unlikely it seemed, the more his secretary’s plain face flashed in his mind, the more it became a possibility.  
  
“No… no, you treacherous cunt, no! _Fuck_ !” he roared. The documents fell from his hands and rustled at his feet.  
  
Betrayal tasted like copper and vomit in his mouth. He couldn’t blink or look away.  
  
She had known. How long he couldn’t tell, but she knew and she had faked a flu to expose him.  
  
Alright, pull yourself together. There’s still a way out – they can’t frame you if there’s no proof of your involvement.  
  
Silly as it sounded, it was the only plan at hand. Dreschner crouched to collect the documents.    
  
Burn them all, yes, and then leave through a window. His whole career crumbling to pieces, but he could start all over again, one way or another. All he needed was his life, and as wits subsided his instinct spurred him forward.  
  
Burn everything. Erase every single trace of his role in the Registration Act 619.  
it could work. It _had_ to work.  
  
But as his knees hit the floor and his trembling, sweaty fingers patted at the papers, mixing them in a chaotic pile, the door clicked open again.  
  
Elias Dreschner froze into place, tears in his eyes, mouth hanging open.  
  
Fuck.

 

_˜˜˜˜˜_

 

 

Smoke. The piercing, deep smell of burned gunpowder in his nose, in his lungs, a grey shroud turning reality into a two-dimensional painting of black and shadows. McCree loaded his gun and grinned, sparing nothing but a quick look to the man convulsing at his feet. A decent shot, but not a great one – black blood spurted from the guy’s stomach, thick and steady enough to show it was going to kill him, but not anytime soon.

“For fuck’s sake, kid, I expected better from you”.

McCree sharply turned around, gun ready and pointing against the black tentacles of darkness slithering among the dead bodies. Gabe found his full physical form at his side, and looked down at the wounded man. He was writhing lightly, panting from behind his shiny helmet. Shotguns perched on his shoulders, Gabe shook his head and clicked his tongue in paternal disappointment.

“Your aim isn’t as good as I recalled…”

“Hey! Six shots five kills is not bad!”

“Yeah, it wouldn’t be – for anyone but you”. He extended his right arm and shrugged, shooting the dying man straight in the face. McCree winced slightly at the explosion, and then some more when the smoke cleared, revealing the underlying sweetness of blood. His last target now lay motionless, except for some residual spasms in his legs, and McCree turned to Gabe.

“Why…”

“Let’s just spare him some pain. It’s more than what these mercenaries would deserve…”

He floated away, his legs but two dark clouds painting the slaughter around them in black. McCree blinked and closed his eyes for a second – not much more, he couldn’t afford the luxury of recovery time.

It was going better than expected, to be honest: an easy way in, with the snipers taking out most of the guards, and just a scratch from a lucky shot that had burned his cheek. Jack was further inside the building, and at his signal Sombra would have locked them all in.

One last check at his victims, and he moved on. He felt little guilt for them – filthy accomplices to something worse than a crime; Jack had shown a moment of doubt when checking the first fallen enemy, but it had vanished the moment he’d realized they were not dealing with soldiers. No army here, just hired guns to do the dirty job.

As far as he knew, this level was clear. And he was still himself, skilled and scared as he could be – no blood running to his head, no stretching of muscles and bones, no fangs and claws. Just him, his gun and the adrenaline rush battling days of exhaustion.

“ _Jesse, move. I found Jack_ ”. Gabe’s voice rumbled in his ears; hadn’t he been so tensed already it would have startled him, but right now he just wiped some blood from his face and moved along down the corridor. Keeping quiet was as difficult as it was useless, so he followed the corridor running and slipping on the bloodied floor.

How many killed already? Half a dozen just down there, and at least as many outside of the building. And they could have been ten times as many, but those they’d contributed to kill and maim and destroy were so many more…

The hair on the back of his neck stood up at the thought, but he quickly pushed anger behind.

He turned left, and then right, finding only flickering lights and rusty pipes running on the ceiling. At the moment, the installment didn’t look at all like a laboratory of any sort, but he trusted Gabe. He had to, or all those deaths would’ve been in vain.

After another corridor, he stopped, hands in the air as Jack turned to him with his rifle staring straight into his face.

“It’s me!” McCree quickly said, skin sweaty and cold. Standing in front of a scratched grey metal door, Jack was something more, something different than the soldier he’d learned to know. Behind his red visor, his eyes were but shards of ice, his mouth twisted into a beastly sneer.

Gabe chuckled somewhere from the black mist around Jack’s ankles, and at that sound, the old soldier took a deep breath and nodded, without lowering his gun.

“Fine. Come closer, we don’t have much time…”

A keyboard flashed green on the moldy wall, its keys worn out and the numbers barely readable.

“Sombra?”

_“Er – yeah, I’m online. Look, we have a bit of a…”_

“Sombra, the code. Or just open the fucking door”, Jack snarled. McCree stood by the corner, checking the way behind them. Clear.

 _“Alright, alright – just… just let me check something first_ …”

“No, do it already. I’m not going to stay here a second longer than…”

_“76, if you want to go ahead and get yourself and the rest of your team killed be my guest, but maybe you’d like to know that I can count at least twenty-one – no, twenty-two more guards on the underground level”._

“Good news then, we found the lab”, he growled, but Sombra didn’t sound pleased.

_“Good news my ass! It’s just the three of you, and I don’t give a rat’s shit about your fragile masculinity, you can’t take them all by yourselves!”_

“Not by yourselves”.

Hanzo’s voice echoed both in the comms and somewhere nearby. McCree turned around to see him march through the dead bodies, and his heart swelled in terror. There was blood on his face and nothing in his hands.

“Oh, great, the two young lovers reunited. I’d throw up if I had a mouth right now”, muttered Gabe. McCree forgot the door and ran to him, stopping when Hanzo crouched to the ground to retrieve a rifle from one of the dead guards.

“What in the name of God is this nonsense?” Jack hissed, snatching the visor from his face. McCree barely heard his reprimand, hurrying to reach Hanzo and taking his arm in a strong grip.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, shaking him a little. Hanzo gave him a level stare and cocked an eyebrow.

“My job. Would you let go of me? I need two hands to fight”.

“But… but…”

_“This may be the right time to inform you that Genji is alive, even if not exactly well. His daredevil idea gained him a pierced wing, so he’s completely useless…”_

_“Hey, I can hear you, Sombra! And I’m not useless – we’re coming too. Amélie just joined us, the area outside the building is clear”._

“What – no! No way! Winston, hurry and pick Genji up, he needs…”

_“In a minute, Jack. Are you sure? I wouldn’t be able to take you lot back home, though”._

_“Nope, big guy, don’t fret. We’re inside already”._

Gabe thickened and put a clawed hand on Jack’s shoulder, preventing him from what looked like a furious outburst.

“No more talking, then. Sombra, seal the building until further order and open this fucking door, we’re almost there and I don’t want to risk the lives of the mutants in here. Amélie, stay with Genji and Zenyatta and try not to get them killed, but I want you all on the rear-guard, we might need someone to open a path back”. He squeezed Jack’s shoulder and McCree, eyes still darting between him and Hanzo, saw him smile. “I like this new version of my Jack, by the way”.

“Shut the fuck up”, he grumbled, but then the door clicked, and indeed they had no time to talk anymore.

McCree stared at Hanzo, and since he’d first entered the building he felt his control slipping from his hands.

“You should have stayed out there”, he said with an unpleasant tingling where his serum pump was. “It was your place”.

“No, my place is here, and not just by your side”. He wrestled his arm free and sneered at him. “Overwatch needs his whole forces to succeed, and failure is not an option”. He slung the rifle around his torso and flared his nostrils. “Now let’s go”, and he sprinted away.

For one single moment, horrible and so intense it devoured him from the inside, McCree felt a surge of panic push his boundaries. He’d resisted a dozen enemies and the stench of blood making the very air sticky and nauseating, but now the Beast was stretching to the surface.

_I’m not gonna let anything happen to you, but you’re a reckless bastard and this is too dangerous._

He roused with a shiver, as if breaking the surface of an icy lake to breathe, and looked down at his hands. The metal one was still clasped around his gun, the other was slowly going back to being just smooth skin and long fingers. But he saw them – a flash of claws, the throbbing of bones – and he swallowed hard.

“Hey there, Jesse”. The last of Gabe’s darkness still lingered around him. “Be ready to unleash your powers, ‘cause we might very well need the _other you_. You’re in control, remember this”, and with what felt like an affectionate ruffling of his hair, Gabe left.

McCree took a deep breath that seemed to calm something inside him, and eventually followed the rest of the team, but with one last hesitation.

“Sparrow, are y’all in for real?”

_“Yup”._

_“Stop wasting time. We’re patrolling the upper level and no, we don’t need your help. Just go”,_  Amélie snapped, inexpressive as usual.

_“But we’re going to be fine! Would you take my brother back, tho?”_

McCree took a step beyond the grey door, and blinked until his sight had adapted to the harsh white lights.

He couldn’t find in himself the strength to smile.

“Can’t promise you anything, but I’ll do my best”, he whispered, and suddenly his soft words were covered by a burst of shots.

Clenching his jaws, McCree rolled the gun in his fist and ran beyond the door, down the metal stairs rattling under his heavy steps.

More explosions echoed from the depths of the maze of corridors, and somewhere Jack roared a long flow of curses before unloading his rifle.

 _“… right! Sombra was right! Jesse, find Hanzo – we kill them all”,_ Gabe snapped in the comm.

And of course, it was but the truth. McCree’s instinct tingled in his fingers, and before he could see anyone approaching he ducked and slammed his back against the nearest wall. A matter of fractions of a second, and a tall man in a black suit stumbled from behind the corner.

A good fighter, ready to turn on his heels and raise his rifle against McCree – but it was not enough. As tension strained his nerves, his perception of reality twisted and changed. The man’s finger was on the trigger, and the smallest of movements would have allowed him to pull it.

McCree was faster. He didn’t even stop to aim and just shot – a single vibration through his bones that, on the receiving side, ended with a crack in the man’s helmet and an uncoordinated fall. The stale air, smelling of mold and damp, tinged with copper, and McCree exhaled a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.

A jump over the corpse – or soon-to-be corpse – and he checked another corridor. If he focused beyond the clamor of the battle he could hear other noises, way more frightening than the expected screams of firearms. A woman sobbing, a child crying at the top of his lungs, the banging of a door.

And voices. More voices, muffled by helmets, hurried and angry.

“Shoot him! Shoot him before he can reload! Fucking monster, you won’t…”

A thud, and McCree was running already. Right, left, and then right again, until the shadow of fear lurking inside him turned to pure terror. He felt the Beast whispering him to let go of his constraints, to let him help him – stronger, faster, and how sweet the blood tasted – and the more his lungs burned with his physical struggle, the more enticing the temptation was. He saw, with the corner of his eye, two figures darting through a side corridor, and in another moment he could have taken them both down, but when a growling Japanese voice rose above the chaos he felt his suspicions freeze to ice and choke him.

 _Hanzo_.

With one last skid, he stumbled in an empty hallway, decked with loose cables on the ceiling and a couple of guards moaning on the floor. The whirlwind of blue and black in the middle of a small crowd of armed men left no room for doubts – Hanzo indeed. And he was fighting like the devil itself.

McCree gaped for a second, his gun useless in his hand. Oh, sure, he was an excellent gunslinger, but how could he risk a shot when Hanzo was so close to the enemies? He backed away behind the corner and peeked outside. And fuck, if it wasn’t the most incredible display of power he’d ever seen…

Hanzo was a warrior, and that he’d known already, but it was the first time he saw him in full action. As one of the men, too near to attempt an attack with his guns, tried to grab his arms, Hanzo ducked and hit his throat with his elbow, sending the mercenary on his knees, gurgling for air. A second one charged, only to meet the heel of Hanzo’s boot with his jaw; his neck snapped backward, and the man fell to the floor like a log. More fists and kicks tried to find their way to Hanzo’s body, but none of them found their mark.

“Enough!” someone yelled, the same man who’d called Hanzo a monster. He was standing right behind him, and McCree gasped and leaped forward when he saw him aim and pull the trigger.

The bullet pierced Hanzo’s right wing, and at the sight of his face writhing in pain McCree almost lost it – but it was just a matter of seconds, even less. Hanzo growled and turned around, and when his knee shot up to impact on the man’s groin the hole in his wing was healing already.

“Fuck – that blighted thing is regenerating!” The panicked cry was the last sound leaving the mercenary’s lips; Hanzo turned around, his wings hitting two more soldiers and making them stagger, and his hands clasped on the black helmet. A sharp twist, the creaking of bones, and another dead body added up to his companions on the floor. Hanzo shot a look at McCree, eyes wide open and sparkling with fury, and suddenly his face – streaked with sweat and blood – convulsed in pure agony.

“ _No_!” McCree jumped forward as a cobweb of lightnings shot around Hanzo, sending him on his knees, shaking and jumping. Tasers, small black rectangles in the trembling hands of their enemies, their electric charges dancing white and blue on Hanzo’s body.

McCree took down one of the assailants, and then another, striding toward them with the dull throbbing of his heart in his head. One more fell under his shots, but there were more – too many, still holding Hanzo down.

“We need them alive! Take the other one!”

But then Hanzo let out a loud, howling lament, quickly fading into a choking moan when a boot crushed his ribs, and then his face. And that sound was the last straw for McCree.

His gun clicked in vain, empty, and the two mercenaries running to get him seemed to be doing so in slow motion.

All that mattered, all that filled his brain and heart and soul, down to that part of him that was instinct and survival alone, was Hanzo’s writhing face, the blood dripping from his mouth.

McCree dropped the gun, panting and growling, and his metal hand went to the back of his neck. The serum pump was such a small thing, metal and plastic crushing under his fingers.

“Do not _touch_ _HIM!_ ” He growled, and his voice twisted and dropped to a deep growl.

His mouth opened and fangs flashed in the crude lights, and when he tore the pump off his skin the Beast took over.

And the Beast only wanted to kill.

 

_˜˜˜˜˜_

 

Hanzo had never experienced such a pain in his whole life. He was beyond any possible definition of suffering his brain could muster – his head was about to explode, his eyes to pop out of his skull, and every single bone in his body was on fire. Blind and frenzied, all his world existed only in the electric shock dancing on his skin, in the madness of his shaking limbs as he writhed on the floor. He couldn’t breathe or react, a pathetic bug squished under the boot of his enemies, and his mind quickly drifted away into madness.

Had he been able to think at all, he would have wished for death to release him from this agony.

And then it stopped as abruptly as it had started, the sizzling sound filling his ears changing into something different.

Panting, gasping for air, Hanzo trembled with his face pressed on the dirty concrete under him. His eyelids and fingers still twitched, blue sparkles dancing in the loose strand fluttering in front of his face, and slowly – horribly so – he came back to his body. Pain was gone, but the noise surrounding him was pure dread. He tried to raise his head and failed when his hands slipped on something warm and sticky under his palms. He blinked until the blurring of his vision subsided, and then he saw it.

Red, shining on his fingertips, its smell so thick it was almost a taste. Blood. With a grunt, he pulled himself up, nauseated and dizzy, and his ragged breaths caught in his throat.

Carnage, all around him. Still too weak to do much more than stand on all fours and gape, Hanzo watched as McCree jumped from the shadows and knocked one of their assailants down – only, that was not McCree at all. No trace of thick locks and amber eyes, no scruffy beard or quick smiles. And he knew what he was looking at, he’d first seen what his precious man could become that long past day when the only thing between them was cautious curiosity, but his wild form in action, and not for some angry display with an old friend, was such a powerful sight it scared him.

McCree was a full head taller than his human form, and the Kevlar suit stretched and ripped on his shoulders and thighs. His face, his head now was wolfish – no, it was something more, something different, a long muzzle with the fangs and eyes of a giant feline, and feline were his claws too, now ripping through skin and flesh and bones, tearing the neck of his next victim apart in a red cascade.

Hanzo couldn’t look away, mesmerized by the sheer majesty of the creature in front of him, one taken straight from legends and nightmares. One of the armed men tried to point his gun at McCree, but his finger never found the trigger; with a sharp turn McCree faced him, snarling, and his fangs sunk into the man’s torso. A piercing scream that lasted the time of a harsh shake; bones shattered and blood spurted between McCree’s jaws, and the enemy was dead before he could slump to the ground.

Hanzo felt his elbows gave way, so he tried to sit back on his haunches, eyes still fixed on the marvel in front of him. Four people were dead already, and the remaining two took a frightened step back, exchanging a shocked look. When McCree let go of his last pray and bared his teeth at them, the mercenaries resolved for the best idea of their day: they twirled on their heels and fled, stalked briefly by a howling McCree, hairs standing on the back of his head and neck like a mane. He followed them to the nearest door, and when it slammed in his face he stopped.

There was almost silence, now. A whispering one, punctuated by gunshots and screams in the distance and covered by Hanzo’s panting. Sitting in the bloodied mess around him, he let his arms fall to his sides and his head lull to his chest; still, when McCree, after clawing at the door with his metal hand and lifting curls of paint and iron from under his claws, turned to look at him, he felt his heart break.

He was there. The man he loved, young and sweet and smart, with his rich voice and his fingers dancing on the strings of a guitar, was somewhere under the surface of his mutation, and the desperate sadness in those eyes spoke to Hanzo’s soul. He perched himself on the wall, fingertips slipping on the smooth and damp surface, and with a grunt he stood up.

McCree stared at him, his huge chest rising and falling in long, deep breaths; a soft whine escaped his lips and he lowered his head.

“Jesse…” His voice sounded so weak and rough he had to clear his throat, coughing until his tongue itched. He wiped blood from his cheeks and shook his head. “You saved my life…”

One unsteady, tentative step forward, with his hand outstretched and his fingers prickling with the need to feel McCree’s strength under his skin, and he left the safety of the wall. His knees wobbled under him, but it was just a side effect of the shock still gripping him; a feeble smile brushed his lips, but when he walked to McCree – three, two feet dividing them, and he could almost feel his heat against his palm – he retracted with a shiver.

Hanzo blinked, his hand slowly falling down. McCree averted his face and closed his eyes, a quiet snarl rippling his skin. There, on the bent neck, Hanzo saw something missing: the small black machine that used to stick from his nape was gone, and only a couple of wires now sprouted among his dark fur.

The realization struck him like one of those damned tasers, and his chest ached with the outburst of emotions.

“Jesse, it’s ok. We’re going to be fine – would you look at me, love? Please?”

McCree’s shoulders quivered and his pointed ears flattened back on his head. Another growl, louder this time, and he walked farther from Hanzo. Unfortunately, Hanzo Shimada was a very stubborn person who would never shrink from a challenge, so he stood still and clenched his fists.

“I know who’s under that skin, and I want him back. And I know you can come back to me, because I love you and you’re so much more than your mutation – remember when you told me the exact same thing?” A small step forward and McCree looked at him with those somber eyes that made Hanzo’s heart bleed. “I believe in you. You… you don’t need the serum to be _you_ ”.

He tried once more to reach out his hand, and suddenly he knew he had nothing to fear. Not from the man he loved, who risked his everything to rescue him. This time McCree didn’t move, and without ever taking his eyes off him Hanzo let his fingers sink into the dark fur of his neck.

A shiver ran up his spine. It was soft and alive, a rich sensation that was both new and familiar when his hand found the warm skin and muscles underneath. McCree leaned in his touch, a flash of pearly fangs appearing between his lips when he licked his nose.

“Come back to me”, Hanzo whispered, closing the gap between them. His fists closed in McCree’s fur, and when he found no further resistance he leaned his forehead against his side.

McCree smelled incredibly like his human self, soap and sweat and gunpowder; he whined quietly, and when he backed away slightly to stare at Hanzo the sadness in his eyes was unbearable.

Hanzo knew they were still in danger, even more than they’d been before, but he just couldn’t let go.

Luckily for them, Jack’s pragmatic voice snapped in the comm.

 _“If you’re done with your Disney bullshit join us immediately. We found the mutants_ ”.

At first, Hanzo, startled by the interruption, could only perch himself against McCree’s body, but when he checked around them to search for more enemies he saw a familiar black veil crawl upon the floor.

“Stop fussing, little prince, he’s going to be alright”. Gabe materialized in front of them, predictably unharmed but with a splash of blood on his face. His black eyes sparkled under the flickering neon, and his face was serious. He steadily walked to McCree, ignoring his warning growl, and patted his shoulder. “But right now, this form could prove more useful for our purposes. Choose to get back on two legs or to stay like this, Jesse, but come with me. Angela’s near”.

McCree showed way more than a hint of fangs but didn’t turn to bite Gabe’s hand; Hanzo, still shaken, blinked confusion away, and when eventually McCree snorted and turned to the corridor he took a relieved breath.

He never thought he could trust Gabriel Reyes, and yet here he was, childishly reassured by his competent presence. He bent his neck to one side, and then to the other, with a creaking of bones, flapped his wings once, and then he was ready. A quick nod was received with a grin on Gabe’s side, and soon the three of them were running again in the basement.

Sombra spoke in their ears, and how tired she sounded.

_“Guys, all the communication systems of the area are disabled, but it’s taking me quite some effort to keep you all shielded – I don’t think I’ll last much longer…”_

“Don’t worry, girl, we got this”, said Gabe, half ethereal already, in a calming voice. Hanzo wished he could feel something – even exhaustion – but his whole being was focused on the energy tensing his muscles.

They stepped over more corpses, blood and smoke painting the air with fear, and when they reached the heart of the building Jack was standing in front of a closed door. Hanzo slowed down, letting Gabe and McCree jump forward to Jack’s stiff figure. Cries echoed from behind the door, and goosebumps covered Hanzo’s arms.

“Here. Be ready, I’ll go first”, growled the soldier, and Gabe rolled his eyes; being completely black, though, the gesture didn’t have the expected effect.

“Stop playing the hero, honey, and open this fucking door already. If you’re still strong enough to do so, of course…”

Jack cocked a pale eyebrow, and to Hanzo’s surprise, his thin lips quivered in a sarcastic smile. He stepped back from the gate, held his rifle pointed forward, and with a grunt he kicked the door. The first impact made it tremble in its hinges, dust and plaster sprinkling from the wall; the second was the definitive one, and the shutters shot open, slamming against the inner room and making the terrified voices scream louder.

The four of them needed no shouted orders or further discussion; one after another they flooded in, Hanzo closing the group, and when his eyes adapted to the brighter lights inside the lab he wished he could unsee the sight in front of him.

It was not a lab, more like a squeaky clean, aseptic dog shelter. Cages were lined along the walls of a long corridor, and each of them hosted a single mutant – a scrawny teen with cracked, rock-like skin was crouched against the wall, shaking, and next to him an old man with exceedingly long limbs lay motionless on the ground. Hanzo felt nausea tickle his jaws, and flashes of his brother, pale and wounded and abandoned in one of those cells, hit his brain. Genji shaking behind the metal bars, Genji asking why, trembling, hating him – the memory of those big eyes exploded in his mind, and the accusation they held was enough to make him weak in the knees.

Something big and heavy bumped against his hip, pulling him back from the verge of panic. Hanzo looked down and met McCree’s eyes, so human and sweet despite his animal form. A wink, completely unseemly coming from such a nearly mythological being, and Hanzo managed to catch a shuddering breath.

It was alright, Genji was somewhere above them, wounded but free, alive and at peace, and Hanzo himself was doing his best to atone for his errors.

But most importantly, and his brain locked into place and started to work properly again, they had people to rescue. He roused with a shiver when McCree leaped past him, jaws closing on the lock of the nearest cage; the woman inside, dressed in a plain, blood-stained white robe that barely covered her weird knees, bent backward, screamed and covered her face with her dirty hands. McCree shook his head and the lock crumbled, letting the door swing open.

“It’s alright, everyone! We’re taking you out of this fucking place”, boomed Gabe, hitting another lock with the heel of one of his shotguns. He walked to the old man inside the cage and knelt, and Hanzo didn’t need his confirmation to interpret the sagging of his shoulders and the melancholic drop of his head.

They were too late for this one.

“Stand back! I won’t let you take him!”

A shriek, anger and utter horror twisting the young female voice into a threatening warning. Hanzo ran forward and reached Jack, now standing in front of yet another open cage.

What he saw inside tickled his memory. A woman was crouched in a corner, hiding something behind her; it was impossible to tell her age with the forest of metal spikes protruding from her face and arms, but she looked young, thin and beyond desperate.

“Girl, we’re not here to harm you”, tried to say Jack in a forcibly calm voice. “I know it doesn’t look like it, but we’re the good guys, and…”

For the first time, Hanzo had the honor to see Jack Morrison’s powers in action. It happened so fast he almost missed it all: the girl snarled and flicked her arms, and a rainfall of darts flew in the air, aimed to the exact point where Jack was supposed to be. Only, he wasn’t there at all, and Hanzo couldn’t tell how or when it happened; as the spikes pierced the opposite wall, Jack flashed forward and ducked, crouching in front of her. He didn’t touch her, he didn’t even raise his gun – he just stood there, pale face hard with concern and eyes sparkling with an unexpected tenderness.

“I promise, we’ll keep you safe. I’m Jack Morrison, and these are my teammates – Hanzo, Jesse, the furry one, and that one is Gabe”.

“Oh, so now I’m just your _teammate_? You wound me”, muttered Gabe in fake outrage.

“… and the little one there is your child, am I right?”

“Wait, I know her!” snapped Hanzo. “I saw her… Jesse, remember? The first time you took me to town, we saw her!”

McCree, with a length of chain still dangling from his jaws, tilted his head to the side and blinked, and at once recognition dawned in his eyes. He remembered too.

Gabe opened another cage and gestured the bright red skinned man inside to go out, something the mutant did with enthusiasm, and then joined Jack. The girl was now crying, her eyes huge among the spikes. A way more high-pitched, primal noise came from behind her.

“I… I’m not going anywhere without my baby”, she stuttered, tears flowing on her cheeks.

“It’s fine, darling, we wouldn’t even suggest such a thing. Pick him up and… oh. Oh, I see”, he whispered, checking on the young mutant’s lethal arms.

She sniffed and sobbed harder, holding out her sharp arms.

“They did s-something to me, to my skin. I can’t… I can’t hold him!”

Jack and Gabe exchanged a long look, and the latter crouched with a smile, one ghostly hand falling on her shoulder.

“Can you trust us? Just for a bit?”

“My… my baby, they’re gonna take him next, I… Please, I…”

“You know what’s the safest place in the world, after a mother’s arms?” He gestured to McCree, whose eyes went wide. “The jaws of a wolf carrying his pups. I’d trust Jesse with my own life, both in this form and the other, and I know he wouldn’t let anything happen to your child”.

McCree shook his massive head, walking away from the cage and right into Hanzo, who bit his lower lip and caressed his back.

“He’s right. You can do it, you’re the only one who needs no weapons to keep a toddler safe”, he whispered, praying his eyes could convey all the love and trust he felt. McCree whimpered once, his fur puffed on his neck and on the top of his head, and Hanzo went down on his knees. “Save him. Please”.

It was as if he could read his thoughts _. I’m a monster, how could someone trust me with such a delicate thing?_

“I owe you my life already. And my heart”. Hanzo knew only McCree could hear his words, little more than a breath. The girl peeked behind the two soldiers in front of her, her skinny shoulders jumping with every harsh pant.

“Come on”. Gabe stood up and offered her his hand. “I promise this nightmare is over, and we’re taking you all to a place where no one will ever hurt you anymore”.

And eventually, with her eyes dancing between the four warriors gathered around her, the girl moved to the side.

The child was a normal, pink and plump infant no more than six or seven months old.

“Go. They need you”, whispered Hanzo, and when McCree finally let out an incredibly human sigh that sounded wrenched from his chest he allowed himself a sparkle of hope. There was something heart-breaking in the heavy steps his lover moved to the cage, head low and ears alert. He sat by the girl and looked down, until a small voice rang in the long room.

“Are we really… really free?” asked the mother, and Jack smirked.

“Only if you let McCree take you out”.

“You’re not coming?”

Hanzo felt concern spike for a second. All the cages were open now, their locks shattered and their doors gaping – all but one. The cage by the door was empty, its bars ajar.

“Not yet. We have to find a friend, first…”

“The blond lady. The one who cared about us”, she stammered, and Jack lightened up at the mention of Angela. He moved fast and stopped before he could grab the girl’s shoulder.

“Is she alive?”  
“They took her – b-before, when the alarm went out. I don’t know…”

“Girl, what’s your name?” asked Gabe, matter-of-factly.

“Samantha, but…”

“Sam, go. Follow Jesse, he knows the way and he’ll lead you all to a carrier, and then to our base. But you must be quick. Can you do it?”

“I think… fine, I think I will…”

A quick flick of his chin, and McCree accepted his duty. He took the baby with his front teeth, and Hanzo could’ve cried when the screaming bundle quieted immediately in the huge creature impossibly delicate jaws.

The safest place in the world, had said Gabe, and when Hanzo saw how tender and careful McCree was as he walked away with the girl in his trail, he knew it was but the truth. His heart swelled with hope and longing when McCree disappeared in the corridor, shooting him one last look that spoke of promises and second chances, but first they needed to get out of this hell.

Once McCree’s uneven footsteps, metal and soft paws alternating, faded away, Hanzo stared at the two men at his side.

They were alone now. His voice sounded colder than he’d expected.

“It’s almost over, isn’t it?”

“Then let’s finish this shit for real”. Gabe loaded his shotguns and headed to the door. “Whatever happens, Hanzo, be ready to grab Angela and run; now it’s not your time to fight anymore”.

Whatever awaited them, Hanzo was ready.

The handle lowered with a click under the pressure of a black tentacle, and the door creaked open.

“Take one more step and I’ll blow her head up!”

Jack and Gabe both stopped so abruptly Hanzo almost ran into them. At first, being shorter than the other two men, he couldn’t see anything, but the sudden wave of pure hatred that radiated from them both was so intense he felt it scorch his skin.

“Colonel Hillridge”, Gabe hissed, frozen; Jack echoed him with a growling “You filthy monster”, but Hanzo barely heard them. As he spread his wings to block the exit, he craned his neck and looked beyond Jack’s shoulder – and his pulse thundered in his temples.

The woman was in her fifties, with greying blonde hair once neatly combed back and now slipping around her reddened, square face. Hanzo got a vague impression of blood-shot dark eyes and shaking hands, but his attention was focused on the slender shape she held under her arm.

Angela was pale, her lips cracked and trembling in a silent plea. Her blue eyes, wide and unfocused, jumped between Jack and Gabe, while she tried in vain to scratch and pull the strong arm wrapped around her throat.

“You-you two. I should have killed you when I had a chance, instead of letting you go to cover a scandal”, Hillridge said, pushing the muzzle of her gun to Angela’s face and squishing her cheek. “You are no soldiers!”

“Shut up, you asshole!” Jack stretched his shoulders and loaded his gun with a loud _clack_ ; teeth bared and knuckles protruding under his black gloves, he looked like an animal ready to attack.

Hillridge’s finger trembled on the trigger, and Angela closed her eyes. Her mouth moved without a sound, tears sparkled on her lashes.

_“Let her kill me, but then stop her.”_

Hanzo held his breath at the sudden realization – she was ready to die to stop the Registration madness.

_She’s the true hero._

“You’ve been warned, Morrison – one step further and she’s dead”.

Jack looked from her to Angela, years of anger and conditioning battling on his features.

“With all due respect, ma’am, you’re probably deader than her”, Gabe said in a forcibly calm voice. The same fury that creaked under Jack’s skin showed in the pallor of his face, but he was clearly doing his best to sound in control. “How long do you think you can last? Killing Angela won’t save you from the scandal”.

His feet faded into smoke that covered the whole floor, slithering among the legs of the tidy desk behind the two women. Soon, they all were knee-deep into a black, whirling layer.

Hillridge looked down at the darkness surrounding her, and what little was left of her composure fell from her face. She jerked her head up and glared at Gabe, a manic grin stretching her lips.

“I know you, Reyes. You’d do anything to save her, am I right? Just like when you raided our labs and stole our samples – “

“They were _people_!” roared Hanzo, surprising himself; Jack’s thick arm blocked his way, and as more pictures of his brother’s scars slashed his heart he realized he wanted to kill that abomination who had the guts to call herself a person.

“No, they were _mutants_! And you – you all, pathetic kids playing at war – stand in the way of progress and national security!”

“You dare… you dare to mask your madness with patriotism? Wash your mouth before you talk about our nation, you degenerate!” Jack let go of Hanzo, who stumbled and clenched his fists, ready to fight.

But once more, Reyes showed a self-control they both lacked. His head, now clear of his skeleton mask, slowly melted in dark columns of smoke, but his voice still rumbled in the room.

“You’re compromised, ma’am. Your labs are being raided and your prisoners are ready to talk when…”

“Who would listen to them? They’re just stray dogs, and no one cares when someone shots a mutt – I’m doing a service to our society, and they are nothing!”

Hanzo froze, and the rest of Gabe’s words slurred under the roaring of his thought.

Stray dogs. Homeless people, living at the borders of society, ignored and despised. Mutants and nothing more.

_But I am still a Shimada._

“… all you’ve got. Let go of Angela and preserve what’s left of your dignity”.

Angela gasped when the grip on her neck tightened.

“No, you three are leaving now, or I…”

“Pardon me my insubordination, but no”.

This time Reaper’s voice didn’t resound all over the place. Out of the shadows sliding around Hillridge’s wrist a clawed hand appeared. Hanzo tried not to blink, but his eyes shut the moment a gunshot boomed in the small room. When the ringing in his ears subsided, another sound filled the silence – a soft moan, and Hanzo came back to himself to stumble when Jack shot forward. He glided on the floor and caught Angela in his arms before she could hit the ground, her hands clasped to her chest.

One detail at a time, Hanzo understood. A hole in the ceiling, Gabe’s impressive silhouette standing behind Hillridge, the colonel’s deformed grimace of shock as her hand was bent back and upwards.

“As I was trying to tell you, resistance is futile”, concluded Gabe.

Angela slouched in Jack’s arms, panting and coughing, her hands shaking so much she couldn’t hold to Jack’s shoulders or sustain herself.

“What did they do to you? Are you hurt? Angie, breathe, ok? You’re safe, you’re with us – just tell me you…”

She managed a nod, her blonde hair tousled around her face. Now that Hanzo got to check on her more closely, kneeling at her side, he saw there were bruises on her face, a black and blue halo on the inside of her elbow. She wore the same white shirt as the other prisoners, and there was blood on its front.

Without adding a word, Jack picked her up as if she was a child and stared at Gabe, still crushing Hillridge’s wrist in his hand. Her attempts to fight back – and Hanzo had to give her credit for a strenuous stubbornness and more than her share of skills – were frustrated by the fluid shifting of the massive body behind her. Gabe’s face was still more mist than flesh, but Hanzo was sure he wasn’t smiling.

“Kill her”, Jack said, turning his face to the colonel. “Kill her and let’s go home”.

“You… traitor! You dishonor the uniform you used to wear!” Hillridge spat out. “Killing an unarmed opponent? That’s a new low even for you, Morrison!”

Jack turned to stare at her with wide, crazed eyes.

“Say that once more and…”

“Hush, Jackie. She’s right, isn’t she?”

Even Angela, half passed out in Jack’s arms, blinked in astonishment. But before anyone could voice their reasonable perplexity, Gabe’s face appeared in the darkness with a cold grin on his lips. A tentacle crawled on the floor and retrieved the fallen gun, pushing it close to Hillridge’s feet.

“We won’t kill her. There will be no need to, and what are we, some kind of devious secret organization exploiting mutants for their own goals? No, we value human life”. He tilted his chin up, showing Jack to walk to the door. Hanzo, for good measure, stood in front of him to protect Angela from any possible outcome.

Gabe was fully human again; he let go of Hillridge, who staggered back against the desk and gritted her teeth.

“We value it so much to know that sometimes it’s so, so hard to carry on after a massive failure”. He picked the gun up and held it by its muzzle. “Just imagine, colonel Hillridge – the talks. The news on tv, online, everywhere. Your name will be on everyone’s mouth, your career thrown to the pigs”. He rolled the gun on his finger, shrugging.

“You won’t…”

“There will be a process, and you will have to face your colleagues and look them in the eye when they will accuse you of every. Single. Crime. You. Committed”. He punctuated his words with small flicks of the gun.

The more he spoke, the paler Hillridge went.

“You can’t p-prove anything…”

“I’m afraid we can, colonel. While we were here to save our friend Mercy, someone was rummaging through your archives. What a _scandal_ ”, he hissed, eyes narrowed to slits. “I daresay they’ll compare you to Goebbels, and they’ll be right. They’ll spit on your name and call you a Nazi. Can you imagine how this will affect you?”

Cold crawled upon Hanzo’s body as he finally understood where this was going. It was horrible, subtle and fascinating.

“Oh, you’ll cry, maybe. On camera, even. And what will you do? Beg for forgiveness? Try to explain why you did this all, why you acted behind your nation’s back?” Gabe tut-tutted and cracked his neck, the parody of a comforting look on his face. “Poor woman”.

When he peeked behind his shoulder, Hanzo saw the warning look in his face. Jack, mouth agape and eyes shining, slowly moved to the door. Angela kept on staring at Gabe and shook her head, but Hanzo followed them and covered the sight for her.

“What… what is he…” she whispered.

“Close the door”, Jack said without looking at Hanzo, and he was more than ready to comply. They stood in the middle of the corridor, and for an eternal moment not a sound came from the room. Then, with a subtle hiss, Gabe filtered under the door and materialized in front of them.

“D-Did you kill her?” asked Angela with tears running down her cheeks.

In reply, a gunshot fired from the office, and she squeezed her eyes shut.

“No”, Gabe said, grim, walking away without looking back. Jack stood still for a second and sighed.

“You’re a bastard, but the right kind of bastard”.

“Yeah, I know. And I still love you too”, he growled before floating away.

Jack, red-faced and dumbstruck, stopped among the cages.

“I… I…”

Hanzo, still shivering from the shock, patted his shoulder.

It was not over yet, but they all have someone to return to. And his own battle was yet to begin.

“Let’s go home”, he said softly. He reached for his comm and cleared his throat. “Winston, come pick us up”.

_“Roger”._

 

_˜˜˜˜˜_

 

“Come on, this way”.

It hurt – the long gash in his wing, the strain in his back and arm as he struggled to anchor himself to Zenyatta’s shoulder, the knowledge that his brother and his dearest friends were still inside that horrible building, and even more so the idea of smelling the stench of chemicals and blood in the lab – but Genji forced his voice to sound as resolute as possible.

“Are you sure?” Zenyatta whispered, his big golden eyes fixed in Genji’s. “We should take you somewhere safe…”

“He speaks the truth”, Amélie said, crouched by the door and intent giving a clinical check to her rifle. The beady red eyes on her forehead sparkled when she looked up to Genji. “But now we have a position to defend”.

The building seemed empty around them, the smell of blood and death so thick it clung to Genji’s nose and throat. He reached for the comm and realized in horror that his hand was shaking – shock or blood loss? He settled for both and called it a day.

“Sombra, news from the others?”

_“Radio silence in the last twelve minutes. I wish I could help you…”_

Genji cursed between his teeth and brushed his wet hair from his forehead.

“Alright. Let’s go find them, then”.

“A bad idea”, Amélie deadpanned, standing up and loading her rifle. “I don’t have infinite bullets, and you two are of little use”.

“Your enthusiasm is contagious, but I have to disagree”. He massaged his shoulder and bit the inside of his cheek to hide a grimace. “I won’t leave my brother alone, and there’s just so much you can do to stop me”.

He stared with pained hope at Zenyatta – he was the only one with the power to hold him back. He wouldn’t risk his life, but something deep inside him knew all too well that his partner was much more than gentle wisdom and soothing words.

And Zenyatta knew everything in his heart. His big eyes fluttered closed and he strengthened his grip on Genji’s wrist.

“We’re to cover their escape, in case there’s any. If in the next ten minutes we hear nothing from them, we’re out. Agreed?”

No, Genji didn’t agree at all, but it was a compromise he had to accept. He bowed his head and sighed, and Amélie shrugged.

“Whatever”. She moved past them and down the corridor, one hand on her rifle, the other extended behind her to block their way. “Let me check first”.

Nothing happened for a while, and Genji was unsure if he had to feel relieved or even more worried; then Amélie shook her head and looked at him and Zenyatta with her big, dead eyes.

“Something is moving on the upper level”.

“Then up we go”, Genji said, but Zenyatta frowned.

“The labs are downstairs, though…”

“But we’re not to investigate them. If we want to clear a path out for the others, we must make sure no one will stand in their way”. He slid his arm from Zenyatta’s shoulder and immediately regretted his decision when more blood soaked his suit, but with some struggle he managed to stand upright. “Here”.

Every step was an agony of pain, fear, and uncertainty. The stairs leading to the upper floor were at the end of a corpse-ridden corridor, and a good portion of them was so mauled it was hard to determine which specific wound caused their death. He recognized the crimson pawprints and closed his eyes – McCree was not going to forgive himself anytime soon for this.

“What happened here?” Zenyattavbreathed out, one hand brushing his mouth.

“This is war”, Amélie said, completely unaffected by the carnage around them. She stepped on a dead body and moved on, her delicate profile as cold as stone.

They were halfway down the way; some twenty feet ahead of them, a flight of stairs led upstairs, and an open door showed a similar set of metal steps sinking down to the basement. Genji worried his lip – the others were down there, if the trail of corpses was to be taken as a clue.

Unfortunately, he had little time to think about this. A door creaked open on the wall behind them, and the trio turned sharply to watch the shutter slam open to reveal two guards in black. One of them wasn’t wearing a helmet, and his acne-scarred face went white as he noticed them. He pointed his gun, but Amélie was faster: with a muffled bang she fired, and the man crumpled to the floor, kicking weakly and leaking blood from a clear hole in his forehead; the second one didn’t last much longer – Amélie shot again and caught the man in his throat. Zenyatta gasped and closed his eyes when the mercenary fell to his knees, trying in vain to contain the crimson fountain squirting from his neck.

“And now”, said the woman, lowering her smoking weapon, “we’re done. Those were my last shots”.

Genji swallowed hard, looking at her and then at Zenyatta with increasing panic.

“O-Ok, these are bad news. But on the other hand, we have nothing that could suggest the others aren’t doing fine, and…”

Footsteps echoed in the distance, and Genji shot his head up. Heavy, running – too many.

“And we’re dead”, Amélie said calmly, her rifle dangling useless at her side.

“Those are… not _them_ ”. Genji knew he sounded superfluous, and yet he couldn’t stop his mouth from running.

Dead. They were dead, Amélie was right. Defenseless against the wave of armed men running at them, the only possible outcome was a tragedy.

Something stirred inside him. He snarled and his only working wing flapped once.

“Go”, he said in a low voice. He could have laughed at how much he sounded like Hanzo, and the thought of his brother – of how he would have been proud of his sacrifice – warmed something inside him.

_If this is how it ends, bring it on. I’m ready, and I’ll take as many of them with me as possible._

The idea of death repulsed him – he had so much to live for, so many people he wanted to see and hug after this battle – but it didn’t matter.

“Genji, what are you doing?” Zenyatta snapped, and the slender hand that grabbed Genji’s arm was nowhere as delicate as it used to be.

“I said _go_! I can give you enough time to make it out alive”. If he’d turned around and looked at that sweet face even for one second, he was sure he would have lost his courage. He bent his knees and took a deep breath, seeking for the sparkle of calm and light inside him, where Zenyatta had laid his fingers so many years before. “But I love you. Remember”.

“… dearest, I love you too, but you are a dumbass and I want to slap you so bad you have no idea”.

Before Genji could let the words sink in – wait, did Zen really call him _dumbass_? – a violent shove on his shoulder sent him against the wall. He staggered, slipped on the blood and opened his eyes, beyond fear and perplexity.

Zenyatta was standing in the middle of the corridor, among the many corpses; he looked so young and delicate, so powerless, with his slender frame and his hands clasped in front of his face and his eyes closed.

The men charging at them were a whole different matter – five of them, they turned around the corner and pointed at them, barking orders.

It was then that Zenyatta opened his eyes, and Genji couldn’t close his own.

He was accustomed to the soft golden glow that shone from his lover’s body whenever he used his healing psionic powers, but it was the first time he saw the lithe body radiate a black and purple aura. Zenyatta’s face was not serene, only cold and ruthless, even if there was no significant twist of his features.

Even Amélie was surprised, and her thin eyebrows climbed up her forehead.

The wave of enemies was near, the first two already kneeling on the ground with their guns aiming at them – and then one of the men stopped behind his companions. His voice, muffled by the helmet, rose from a wail into a scream, and he fell to the floor, holding his head in his hands. This nearest comrade turned to stare at him, and his hands lost their grip on the gun, shaking wildly.

One by one the mercenaries started to scream; the one in the front row let go of his weapon and tore the helmet from his head, and Genji gasped in horror.

The man was crying like a crazed animal, his eyes bulging off his skull and his mouth hanging open. The noise was maddening, a cacophony of sheer terror that hurt Genji’s ears; he wanted to cover them with his hands, but he was paralyzed with amazed shock. The last standing enemy was trembling so much his whole body jumped as if in a seizure, and a pool of piss formed between his feet. His voice cracked and he collapsed on the floor, motionless. A voice deeper than his brain told Genji he was dead, and the others followed quickly.

Zenyatta was floating a mere inch from the ground, hands still clasped and that supernatural aura throbbing around him. He stood like this until all the five soldiers were but a crumpled mess of jolting limbs and drooling mouths, and then, with a shiver, he swayed and held his hand out to the wall.

Genji blinked and hurried to hold him, even if his wing protested at the brutal movement. Right now, he couldn’t care less: Zenyatta panted softly in his arms, but before Genji could succumb to concern he looked up at him and smiled.

“I’m fine – we’re fine”, he whispered, exhausted. Amélie jumped over the bodies around her and kicked one of the still babbling men in the ribs, but only elicited more incoherent nonsense from him. When she opened his visor, she backed away in disgust. Blood was trickling down the man’s nose and eyes, and an insane grin trembled on his red-rimmed lips.

“He’s still alive”, she said, almost shaken.

“There are… love, help me to my feet”, and Genji obeyed. After some more deep breaths, Zenyatta ran his hands over his face and looked like himself again. “There are worse things than death, my friend. These men won’t bother us – or anyone else – ever again”.

For a blessed, unseemly moment there was silence. Genji blinked away the white sparkles at the corner of his eyes and didn’t refuse Zenyatta’s hands holding him upright.

“No, no, I can do it”, he tried to protest, but at his lover’s cocked eyebrow he grinned. “Alright, I’m a bad liar. Now we…”

A door slammed upstairs, and the three of them paralyzed. Listening.

Zenyatta’s eyes were huge in his dark face, Amélie’s small nose pointed to the source of the sound. Barely daring to breathe, Genji touched his comm.

“Sombra…” he hissed.

A feeble voice reached his brain.

_“Hurry up, guys… what’s wrong now?”_

“Who’s upstairs?”

A moment of silence, and Sombra sounded more like herself.

_“Just give me a second… I can’t detect any weapon, but it’s… it’s weird, I’m sure there’s someone right above you, but…”_

“We must go and see”, Zenyatta interrupted her. “If they’re one of the escaped mutants we can’t leave them here!”

_“Are you all going to do something stupid again? Yes you are. Why am I not surprised? Just get out already, we don’t have all day!”_

“Sorry, Sombra, but Zen’s right”. Genji cut her short, and stubbornly ignored her protests over the comm. He closed his hand on the wound still dripping blood down his back and grimaced. “It won’t take long”.

No need to ask the others’ opinion: the moment he limped to the stairs he felt them following him, one step at a time, as scared as he was.

No weapons, Sombra had said, and this was good news; but no signs from the rest of the team.  
He forced the thought to the back of his brain and emerged to an empty corridor. Amélie grabbed his arm and he looked at her; her tiny red eyes sparkled under the faint morning light coming from a window. Genji and Zenyatta didn’t move, and in the complete silence, even their breathing seemed loud.

Genji frowned, ready to ask her what was happening, but then he heard it – a rustling of papers just a couple of doors down the corridor. He nodded and tiptoed, with a creaking of Kevlar and leather, to the source of the sound.

His hand shook on the handle, the words ‘no weapons, stay calm’ ringing in his head like a mantra, but his palm was sweating nonetheless. He pushed the door to a well-lit office; at first, all he saw was a messy desk and a tall, slim man rummaging wildly through an open safe on the wall.

When the stranger stiffened and straightened his back, Genji felt white-hot anger ignite his skin.

He knew that ginger hair.

Dreschner was shaking, and when he slowly turned around his pale skin was white, his blue eyes glassy and too wide in his long face. His lips trembled without a sound, and Genji clenched his fists.

“You’re a dead man, doc”, he hissed. Everything in his head faded to red – hatred and vengeance devouring him from the inside.

This was his own nightmare, the monster that lived under his bed and in the darkest corners of his heart. His torturer, the stain on his painfully rebuilt peace. And no matter if his body hurt or his nose couldn’t get rid of the stench of blood, no matter if he had no weapons – he had hands. Fists that could crush bones, fingers that could tear and break and hurt.

“398b – the Shimada boy”. Dreschner’s voice rattled, cold and broken, in the office. His hands clutched some crumpled papers.

Genji knew he had to offer some furious remark, he felt years of accusations and bitterness bubble in his chest, but all he could do was grit his teeth and clench his fists so hard his knuckles cracked. Zenyatta put a hand on his wing, a painful squeeze that brought him back to reality.

“I suggest you follow us without offering any resistance, sir. You have no way out but us”.

“It was her, you know? My Clementine. She… opened the safe. Another one of those abominations, and I didn’t know. I trusted her, I cared for her…”

“I’m going to kill him…”

“Genji, no. Vengeance won’t heal your wounds”, Zenyatta said with urgency. The corner of Dreschner’s mouth twitched into an insane grin and his pale eyes danced among the mutants’ faces.

“It was for science. For a greater good. My discoveries could have saved your father, 398b – and so many others, why couldn’t you understand it? You served a glorious purpose and…” He squinted and focused on something behind Genji and Zenyatta, and with a frown he tilted his head. “Oh. You, too…”

Amélie, still on the door, was clutching her empty rifle. Her bluish skin was now a dull grey, and she didn’t look alive at all.

“Wait… I remember you”. His hands trembled as he pressed the papers to his immaculate lab coat. “There were two of you. 321a and 321b, the human control…”

Zenyatta panted and doubled over, and Genji forgot his own darkness for a second; he held his lover and gasped at the sudden outburst of sweat on his forehead, at the tears welling in his eyes.

“Zen! What…”  
  
“S-So… so much… pain”, he stuttered, one slender arm reaching out to Amélie.

It was then that Genji saw her move. Her lips trembled, and her big eyes shone – and for the first time, Genji saw emotions run in waves on her delicate face.

Grief. Pain. Animalistic rage.

“His name was Gérard”, she snarled. “And he was my husband”.

She dropped the rifle and walked to Dreschner, who, if possible, went even whiter and backed away against the open safe.

“You tortured me. You twisted me, turned me into a monster”. Her long fingers loosened their grip on her weapon; it fell with a sharp thud, and she stepped over it without hesitation. Zenyatta moaned softly, hands digging into Genji’s arms and eyes squeezed shut. “You made me kill him”.

The small, rosy mouth snapped shut as Amélie stopped in front of Dreschner; his incoherent babbling, full of ‘scientific innovations’ and ‘fully authorized’, ceased the moment the black vertical line under Amélie lower lip shook briefly.

Now even Genji wanted to look away, because her slow transformation was atrocious – and yet so fascinating he couldn’t close his eyes. The line thickened and opened, splitting her jaw in two and revealing a set of black fangs were her chin used to be. Cobwebs leaked from her fingertips, and for once Genji really thought he was looking at a monster out of a nightmare.

“I loved him”, she growled, the ticking of her chelicerae drumming under her words.

“No… s-stand back!” Dreschner whimpered, but Amélie ignored him. Feline movements carried her to the man, who staggered and fell sitting on the floor, his arms raised to cover his face. His whining turned into a panicked scream when Amélie’s hands closed on his wrists.

“I _loved him_ ”, she repeated, bowing over him.

At the first crunching sound of broken bones, underlined by a piercing, animalistic cry, Genji finally looked away, holding Zenyatta in his arms.

The screams distorted into a high-pitched wail, the most horrific sound he’d ever heard; bones shattered and blood stained the very air, as Zenyatta covered his ears with his hands and nestled closed in Genji’s embrace.

It never stopped. Genji knew, with a certainty that transcended common sense, that he would hear that noise forever in his sleep, and he tried not to vomit when the stench of copper and body fluids choked him.

But indeed, eventually it did stop, and for a long time, none of them moved. Zenyatta, tears streaking his face, trembled and went limp, sinking on his knees; Genji tried to hold him up, but a gentle touch on his forearm reassured him – Zenyatta was going to be ok.

He looked up from behind a damp green lock and saw Amélie get back on her feet. Her body covered the mess that used to be dr. Dreschner, and with a flick of her hand, stained in red, she moved her long black ponytail behind her shoulders.

She was shaking.

“Leave me”, she whispered, and Genji was ridiculously relieved to hear no rattling in her voice.

“How… how are you?”

“I said _leave_ ”, she insisted with a different kind of trembling in her tone. Zenyatta got to his feet, still deadly pale, and took Genji’s hand. Their fingers intertwined, and in the slaughterhouse that now was Dreschner’s office Genji roused and looked at him.

“Come, dearest”, he said quietly. His eyes, red-rimmed and still sparkling with tears, rested in Genji’s. Serious, old and wise.

 _He’s dead. He won’t hurt me ever again_ , he said to himself. He turned one last time and tried to peek behind Amélie, but Zenyatta tugged at his arm.

“You don’t need to see. It’s over”.

And it was true. He didn’t feel better, just empty and immensely tired. The right thing, a longed-for justice he’d expected to soothe his soul, and all he needed now was to be out, under the rain drumming against the window. Free to fall to his knees and let Zenyatta comfort him.

He stared at Amélie one last time.

“We can’t help her now”, said Zenyatta, sadly shaking his head. “But she’ll come in due time”.

He nodded and swallowed back a weird lump of emotions tightening his chest; his hand wrapped around Zenyatta and he turned his back to his own horror.

Together, they walked away.


	16. Echoes in rain

 

[Echoes in rain](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8DDHulO485k)

  


Rain washed over a dull, grey world when they left the building. Gabe and Jack ran in front of him, the latter carrying a very pale Angela in his arms, and Hanzo couldn’t bear their pace. It seemed too slow, an excruciating waste of time when all he needed was to be already to that damned helicarrier and make sure everyone was alive. He flapped his wings and took off a few feet from the ground, darting in front of the two soldiers and ignoring the many dead bodies scattered on the ground. They weren't but faceless men to him, but he couldn’t resist and he checked everyone twice – no, not his friends. Not his family.

_“Where’s that fucking transportation?”_

Genji’s voice croaked through the comm, and Hanzo closed his eyes for a second in the most painstaking relief he’d ever felt.

_“Where the fuck are you? I expect someone to send a first warning at the nearest police department, they’ll be over soon!”_

_“We’re coming, Sombra, just tell us…”_

_“Look up, Jack”._

As Winston’s deep voice joined the chattering, Hanzo landed in a clearing not far from where they’d left the van. Above his head, an immense black shadow covered the leaden gray clouds; the rotor lifted a violent wind that tousled his hair and tore it from his untidy ponytail, and Hanzo covered his face with his hand at the blaze of white lights.

“ _Looks like cavalry’s here_ ”, Lena chuckled from the base, and someone giggled in the background.

A joke, but it held more than a grain of truth. Winston landed the helicarrier some ten feet from Hanzo, who was quickly joined by Jack and Gabe, and the back hold door opened with a slam and a spray of muddy water from a puddle.

In the darkness, a tall shape appeared in the hold, and when Hanzo finally focused his eyes his heart skipped a beat.

McCree – long legs and ruffled beard and so perfectly human – ran down the ramp and gestured them in.

“C’mon board, y’all!” he roared, gesturing with his arm. While his three companions sprinted past him, disappearing in the helicarrier, Hanzo stopped and couldn’t hold a smile back. Despite what reason suggested, he turned to McCree with a knot of emotions choking him.

He’d expected open arms and the warm comfort of his love’s embrace, but as he approached, McCree stepped back and shook his head. His face twisted into a pained expression, and his eyes couldn’t meet Hanzo’s gaze. There were rips on his shoulders and on the seams on the side of his thighs, and Hanzo felt his heart drop. He let his hands – so ready to touch and caress the living, strong muscles in front of him – fall to his sides, and a pang of sorrow and confusion burned inside him.

“Jesse… what’s wrong?”

“Don’t… don’t touch me”, McCree whispered, walking further from the helicarrier.

“Why? Are you hurt? Are you…”

McCree’s head shot up; the shocked pain in his eyes was so deep Hanzo gasped and furiously checked him for wounds he couldn’t see.

“No – I… I beg you, Han, stay away from me. I can’t…”

A wet pitter-patter tore Hanzo from the pit of doubt and fear that was swallowing him; the sight of Zenyatta and Genji dragging themselves toward him gave him a momentary relief and he let out a dry sob. A consistent part of him wanted to run to his brother, pale and clutching to Zenyatta, but his feet were stuck to the muddy ground in front of McCree.

“Move!” Jack growled from the hold, gesturing them in with his gun. His scarred face frowned. “Where’s Amélie?”

Gabe glided down the flight and picked Genji up, ignoring his protests and hushing him as if he was a child, and Zenyatta briefly closed his eyes. A pale glow surrounded him, and eventually he nodded.

“She’s coming. B-But…” He looked at Gabe, lips quivering, “don’t make me check again. It hurts”.

“Is she alive? Is she well?” Jack pressed on, ready to jump to the ground and, Hanzo was sure, go to her rescue.

Zenyatta wrapped his arms around his body and looked behind his shoulders; Hanzo did the same, although taking his eyes off McCree was the most difficult thing he’d ever done.

A black, slim figure was walking slowly toward them, a long ponytail swinging on her back.

“Yes… and no”, Zenyatta said, but he couldn’t add much more, because Jack grabbed him by the shoulder and dragged him in.

“You two, hurry up”, he shouted, but Hanzo shook his head.

“Come on, Jesse, we’re going …”

“No, not me – not like this!” He took a step toward Hanzo, but stopped dead and took his head in his hands. “Leave me now before I lose it again!”

Hanzo snarled and closed the distance between them, grabbing McCree’s wrists and forcing them apart.

“Now you tell me exactly what’s wrong with you!”

McCree swatted his hands away, and Hanzo glared at him. Anger was mixing with the mad happiness of seeing him there, in the flesh, alive and well.

“You’ve seen what I can do, and I don’t know if I… if…”

The helicarrier roared, its engines ready to take off once more. McCree stared desperately at the transportation, then at Amélie, now so near her footsteps echoed under the rain.

Hanzo took McCree’s face in his hands and stared at him, tears prickling behind his eyelids.

“What. Happened”, he deadpanned, and he wished his voice didn’t sound so shaky and desperate. McCree bit his lower lip and opened his mouth to speak, but only managed a broken sigh. The complete wreck in his eyes was contagious, and Hanzo barely noticed when Amélie walked past them.

“Jesse – please…”

“This!” He snapped, turning his head to the side and brushing the hair from the back of his neck. From the bruised skin sprouted broken wires, and Hanzo held his breath. “ _This_ happened, and I’m not to be trusted anymore…”

“B-But you’re controlling your mutation now! You’re fine!”

“Yeah, sure. _Now_ . But what about _then_ ? What if the Beast takes over once and for all? I can’t… I _won’t_ be a danger to my family”. He took Hanzo’s hands and held them in a cold and steely grip. “I’m staying here. I’ll be alright, I’m not new to living on my own”.

The lie in his words was so blatant Hanzo wanted to punch and kiss him in equal parts. He clenched his fists and bared his teeth, closing the gap between them.

“You, Jesse McCree, will come with me this very moment. I won’t hear any more of this…”

“Hanzo! For the love of God, can’t you see?” He was almost crying, his face contracting with an unbearable anguish. He splayed his hands on his chest and hunched his shoulders. “I’m too dangerous! It was only for Mercy’s serum pump that I…”

“Fine, then”. Hanzo threw his hair back and turned to the helicarrier. “Jack, go. We’re staying”.

“What?” Jack said, dumbstruck. McCree grabbed Hanzo’s arm with such strength it hurt.

“No way, darlin’, yer goin’ with the others!”

“Or _what_? Careful, McCree, for a Shimada won’t take orders from anyone!”

“You stubborn jackass, just because…”

Two heavy, clawed hands landed on their shoulders, and Hanzo found himself thrown back, halfway up the flight. He staggered and snarled, ready to fight, but when he blinked anger and rain away he saw Gabe towering over McCree; he snatched him by the front of his suit and slammed him against the metal wall in a whirlwind of black volutes and seething outrage.

“Get. On. The. Fucking. Plane”, he hissed, a mere inch from McCree’s nose. Hanzo knew he had to step in, but suddenly Genji was pulling him, a quickened flow of Japanese pleas rolling from his tongue.

McCree twitched and tried to pull Gabe’s hands away – anger and despair, and yet his mutation was not stirring at all.

“Listen carefully, kid – _no man left behind_ ”.

“I c-can’t risk everyone’s safety!” he panted in reply, and Hanzo couldn’t tell if what was running down his cheek was rain or tears. Gabe floated back, carrying McCree with him as if he weighed nothing.

“Think you can best me, McCree? I’d like to see you try. Now shut your trap and come home, because trust me, if I have to knock you out I won’t hesitate”.

McCree kicked some more, but apparently there was no game against Reaper. Hanzo, under his brother’s and Jack’s insistence, found himself on board, and after one last glimpse of McCree’s hopeless, red face the door closed and darkness surrounded them.

Gabe let go of McCree with a grunt, but before he could fall back he took him by shoulders. Hanzo staggered, still completely focused on the scene playing out in front of him, and barely realized they were leaving for good.

“I’m watching over you, little one. I always do”, Gabe said in a warm tone full of affection, and Hanzo, as he saw McCree sink on his knees in a corner of the hold, allowed himself a glimmer of hope. From the corner of his eye, he saw his whole team, buckling up in more or less decent conditions. Samantha, the mutant girl rescued from the lab, was crouched in a corner; her child was sleeping in a big plastic box in her lap.

From the command deck, Winston turned to look at them, his blue fur all ruffled.

“Ready to go? Sombra says the way’s clear, and our shields are up – with some luck and a bit of help from the storm no one will follow us”. He slung a pair of headphones over his head and pulled the cloche. “Home awaits”.

Hanzo almost fell on top of Genji at a particularly harsh turn, but refused to sit down with the others. Instead, he reached McCree and sat on the floor at his side.

“This is madness”, he said, sniffing, his head hidden in his arms.

With a sigh, Hanzo caressed his head and couldn’t suppress the surge of love when his fingers ran through the tangled mass of dark locks.

“Do you really think I could leave you?”

A long moment of silence, underlined by the rumbling of the engine, and McCree peeked up from his crossed arms.

“I only wanted you to be safe…”

“And I want to be with you. Does this matter so little to you?”

“Fuck, Hanzo…” McCree caught his hand and pressed it to his face, kissing the scales on Hanzo’s wrist. “I love you so much…”

“I’m here. I won’t go away”.

For a while they stood like this, the burning feeling between them warming them both. Hanzo knew it was not going to be easy, but he trusted McCree – maybe even more than he loved him, and this said a lot.

Jack was trying to keep Angela in her seat, but she was having none of his fussing.

“Leave me be, 76! You came before they could do much more than draw some blood from me, I’m fine!” She stood up and pushed him away, brushing the front of her blood-stained white shirt with annoyed hands.

“But you…”

“Stop it now”, and she waved her index under his nose. “Genji needs my intervention more than I need rest”.

Genji, hearing his name, lifted his head from Zenyatta’s shoulder and gave her a weak smile. “Don’t worry, I’m not that bad, I can wait until we’re back to the base”.

“Hush, my friend, let me check…”

With a crooked smile, Genji took her hand and shook his head.

“Is it just me, or someone needs your help more than I do?” and he gestured to McCree with his chin. In doing so, he met Hanzo’s eyes and winked.

Hanzo bowed his head in a silent ‘thank you’, making a mental note to hug his brother as soon as possible.

Angela rolled her eyes and some color flushed her cheeks.

“I mean”, Genji resumed, “I know you can’t fix him up until we’re back to the base, but maybe you can…”

“There’s nothing to fix”, she snapped, her whole body tensing and shaking slightly.

McCree shivered with a mirthless chuckle.

“If you like hairy big guys, that is…”

But Angela was not in the mood for joking. She joined him and Hanzo and crouched in front of them.

“Jesse, I must offer you my apologies. I lied to you”, she said, and her golden lashes trembled.

“Now, now, why would…”

“The serum. It was…” A deep sigh, and she forced herself to look at McCree’s face. “It was fake”.

Hanzo blinked, but the hand holding his own clenched hard on him.

“… sorry?”

“It was diluted. Half serum, half physiological solution at first, and then… it’s…” She bit her lip and covered her face with her hand. “I couldn’t find anymore serum, so I took a risk. You’ve been running on little more than water for nearly eight years now”.

McCree went pale and his fingers slipped from Hanzo’s palm, no matter how much he tried to hold him.

“What… do you mean?” he whispered; Hanzo felt the need to hold him in his arms – he looked suddenly so weak and lost, and he, too, was starting to understand the implication of Angela’s confession.

“You don’t need it. You never needed it, and I didn’t know how to tell you. Forgive me, if you can…” A small sob bubbled from her lips, and she sunk on her knees, crying quietly in her palms. “I’m sorry”.

McCree’s mouth hung open, his eyes wide and unfocused, and Hanzo had no idea what to do next. Inside him, a violent pride for McCree’s self-control and courage battled with the shock of the discovery and more than a hint of outrage for the lie, and he couldn’t express either.

Around him, all of Overwatch was silent. Zenyatta looked determined, a sparkle of iron in his eyes – and Hanzo knew he had at least an ally in whatever fight awaited McCree’s soul. Amélie sat by Reaper, expressionless as usual; in her lap was a pile of wet, crumpled papers, and she frowned a bit. She lifted a hand to her cheek and touched her skin, staring at her fingertips in shock.

Slow tears were running down her face, and Reaper tilted his head to look at her, startled. When he looked at Jack, the fierce protective look in his eyes melted, and without taking his eyes off him he slung an arm around Amélie’s shoulders, pulling her close.

“It’s ok, girl. You can cry now”, he whispered. And in the end, after years of horrors, Amélie started to shake. She gulped and exhaled a small strangled noise, and Hanzo closed his eyes when he saw her bury her face in Reaper’s broad chest, sobbing her heart out.

Healing. Such a diverse, complicated process.

McCree shivered at his side and came back to life.

“It was water. You injected me water for all this time”, he stuttered in a rough voice. Angela, still kneeling in front of him, nodded weakly.

“I’m so sorry, Jesse, and I’ll understand it if you’ll never want to have anything to do with me anymore – I’ve been a terrible doctor and an even worse friend, and…”

“No no no, wait – say it again. You didn’t use the serum”, he pressed her on, voice now steadier. Angela wept harder, her back shaking with her sobs.

“F-Forgive me, I…”

And out of the blue, so sudden Hanzo actually feared an unlikely attack, McCree shot forward and wrapped Angela in a brutal hug. Hanzo by now had resigned himself to his utter confusion, and apparently Angela was in no better conditions: she looked up from McCree’s shoulder with her blue eyes round and puffy and her hands fluttering at her sides.

At first, Hanzo didn’t understand if the vibration in McCree’s back was anger, despair or...

Laughter. It was laughter, open and carefree, a sound so marvelous he bit his tongue not to cry too.

“It was me! All these years – _me_!”

“Y-Yes…”

He pulled back, holding her by her arms, and kissed her cheeks with such energy she stopped shivering at once.

“You wonderful, daredevil of a scientist!”

“Wait, he’s not angry?” Genji asked, pointing at McCree with his thumb.

“Jesse, did you suffer a concussion? Because your behavior is…”

He silenced Angela with another hug that made her squeal.

“Not right now, m’lady, I’m too happy – maybe there’ll be time for a ‘fuck off’ later, but…”

He let her go and slapped his thigh, looking at the ceiling and laughing.

“I’m me. I can’t believe it – I’m _me_!” He turned to Hanzo, still something more than perplexed, and grabbed him by the back of his neck. “Sorry ‘bout earlier, pumpkin”, and he pulled him closer.

Before he could catch his breath, Hanzo found himself drowning in a kiss, free and enthusiast as he’d never hoped he could savor again. He clung to McCree, and at last his heart found its place once again.

Around them people talked and chuckled, but it was so easy to ignore them.

“For fuck’s sake, you two, find a room!” moaned Jack, and Gabe snorted.

“Oh, come on, Snow White, let them be…”

Hanzo pulled back, gasping for air, and leaned his forehead to McCree’s. He was smiling despite the tears streaking his face, and a wet smile blossomed on his lips.

“You’re Jesse McCree, and there’s never been anything wrong with you”, he whispered. McCree held him close, his hands sinking in his hair and loosening what was left of his bun.

“Agents – and Samantha, our dear guest – prepare for landing”, announced Winston in his deep voice. “We’re home”.

  


_˜˜˜˜˜_

  


This was not how it worked. McCree, walking with the others down the darkest corridors of the base, far from the hangar, knew he had to be furious, in shock, anything because of Angela’s revelations. He felt wrong, as if his incredulous relief was something to be ashamed of, and behind it hordes of dark thoughts and resentment were lurking, waiting for the right time to assault him.

But, as he turned his head to steal a glimpse of Hanzo’s exhausted and yet smiling face, he couldn’t listen to that annoying voice in the hideouts of his brain.

They had fought, and they had won the worst battle of his whole life. And maybe he, too, deserved a moment of peace.

It took them half an hour to get back to the base, and during that time no one talked much. It was as if they feared words could spoil their hard-earned victory. They were safe, Sombra’s tricks and Overwatch’s carefully planned security system protected them from the unavoidable intervention of the police.

For now.

McCree winced and shook that intrusive thought away. For now they were safe, and for now he only wanted to enjoy a sparkle of happiness. Whatever awaited them in the next days was a mysterious territory he didn’t want to venture in yet.

Winston opened the last door ahead of them, and the first flicker of those ever-blinking neons warmed his heart. They were home for real, alive and together, and this was a miracle on its own; McCree wrapped his arm around Hanzo’s waist and pulled him close, stooping to kiss the top of his head.

This made him chuckle.

“What’s going on in that beautiful brain of yours?” he asked, slowing his pace to let the others walk past them. McCree shrugged and smirked, blinking his fatigue away.

“Nothin’, sunshine, but I love you. You… you were really going to stay back with me, had I…?”

“Yes”, Hanzo replied immediately with no hesitation. “Yes, don’t ever doubt it. But”, and he grinned, nuzzling his nose in McCree’s beard, “I’m rather glad we don’t have to be on the run right away”.

“I’m a lucky bastard…” he whispered back. He would have added something else, but a loud chattering from the rest of the group reached them, and McCree sighed.

They had time, and it was the only blessing he ever needed.

Still holding Hanzo he walked into the med bay, and it took him a moment to take in everything that was happening.

Lena was back in her bed, fully awake and asking for every single detail; miss Bishop held her hand, and Lúcio was fussing around Genji with needle and thread.

“You’re all alive. I can’t believe it – all of you, I was so sure… hey, not to question your skills, guys, but… fuck, you’re all _great_!” His smile was so bright it could have made the sun pale in comparison.

Sombra was sitting on the floor, an ice pack on her head and a graveyard of blood-stained tissues all around her. She uncoordinatedly waved her hand to refuse Angela’s help, and her voice, albeit feeble, was as sarcastic and confident as ever.

“… told you I’m fine already! My head hurts, my nose bleeds and I need a drink, but it’s nothing unexpected”. She peeked up from her arms and shot Gabe a killer stare. “And if you try to sound fatherly and concerned I’ll hack your phone and show everyone the pic you have as a wallpaper!”

McCree, slipping in with a chuckle and leaning to the doorframe, saw her shot a glance at Jack before moaning and letting her head fall back. Gabe grunted and crossed his arms, and Angela, forgetting Sombra for a moment, sighed and stood up.

“What’s your phone’s wallpaper?” Jack asked, and for once not in his typical gruff tones. He sounded younger and curious, a version of himself McCree had thought forgotten and never realized he had missed.

“Your mom”, Gabe mumbled, looking away. And in doing so, his black eyes rested on Angela, now standing upright in front of him.

There was something in her demeanor that sent shivers down McCree’s spine. Delicate and slender as she was, she’d endured the horrors of the lab with the single-minded focus of helping others, even minutes after her rescue. Steel under the petals of a flower, and Gabe blinked at her.

“Er… I think we have a lot to discuss, and then some rest, right, Mercy? I…”

Angela clenched her jaws and punched Gabe square in the face, taking him by surprise to the point he had no time to turn into mist. His head snapped to the side, and McCree couldn’t suppress a snort of laughter.

“You, Gabriel Reyes, are a major asshole. You left us, and God knows how worried we all were for you! And… and…” She shook her head and tackled him, her arms tight around his waist. “And I’m so glad you’re back”, she concluded, pressing her face to his shoulder.

Gabe massaged his jaw and stared dumbstruck all around until his eyes met Jack’s.

“Is this good? Can I hug her back or she’ll kick my nuts?” he whispered loudly, and Jack threw his head back in a barking laugh.

“What do you think? And let’s admit it, you _are_ a bit of an asshole…”

“Yeah, and you love this asshole”, he said with a wink before ruffling Angela’s hair. “I guess I deserved it, but I missed you too, blondie”.

“Alright, alright”. Winston cleared his throat and saved Jack from what looked like the worst embarrassment of his whole life. “Miss Bishop, as you can see we did it. And without your help we wouldn’t be here now, so – thank you”.

Clementine blushed pink and hid a small smile behind her hand.

“For such a small thing…”

“Small thing, you say? You allowed us to save Angela, we’re going to stop the Registration Act madness”, Lena patted the woman’s arm and smiled, pale but radiant, “and you said you’d give me Emily’s number, don’t you think I forgot it!”

“What do we do now?” asked Zenyatta. Sitting on the cot next to Genji he too looked worn, but he didn’t let go of the youngest Shimada’s hand as Lúcio started to stitch his wound.

His words silenced the small crowd; Angela untangled from Gabe’s arms and wiped her nose with the back of her hand, and Jack rubbed his chin.

“We rest for the day, but you’re right – we can’t just stay here and wait for news”, he said, gloom.

“Sombra, can you take details from the archives of the Registration Act?” Gabe walked back and forth in the room, counting on his fingers. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but I reckon this shit is not what the government signed up for, and…”

“Calm your tits, _jefe_ , I checked already – there’s nothing. Just rubbish and bureaucracy”, replied Sombra without lifting her head. “They’re either very good, but that’s not the case considering how childish their security systems were for me, or…”

“Nothing of the project is digital”, a dull voice said from the corridor. Both McCree and Hanzo winced – had Amélie always been there? – but moved to the side to let her in. She looked a mess, her eyeliner smeared down her cheeks and her smooth hair sticking to her forehead; her heels ticked on the floor as she walked in and threw some papers on the metal table. “Only this”.

Clementine gasped and stood up under everyone’s perplexed stare. She smoothed the file with her hands and scanned them quickly.

“These were in Dreschner’s safe. I… opened it and read them, I needed proof of the Registration Act”. She looked up at Amélie with a sad, sweet face. “Is he…”

“Yes”, she interrupted her, and McCree closed his eyes to ban the sight of her broken soul, barely conceived by her cold appearance.

With a shivering sigh, Clementine patted the papers and nodded.

“He was kind to me. And he was a monster. The world is better off without him, I suppose”.

Jack loomed over her and winced. His pale eyes were glimmering with something very similar to triumph when he eagerly searched for Gabe’s approval.

“This is… this frames the team behind the Registration Act. It has signatures and names and everything…” he whispered.

A jolt of tension shot through McCree, and suddenly everyone was talking. Lena and Genji were excited – the latter even stopped wincing under Lúcio’s stitches – and Winston dropped a long series of legal terms that seemed to lead to a positive outcome, Zenyatta brightened and Sombra just moaned grumpily. As Angela offered herself as a witness to the horrors of the lab, Gabe’s face darkened.

“They won’t listen to us”, he said, and then again, his voice louder, more threatening. “Jack! It’s pointless!”

“Why do you say so? We have documents that…”

“Exactly, _we_ ! And what are we? Two old renegade soldiers, a bunch of nameless kids picked from the streets, many of us are considered dead – we are _nothing_ ”.

“We are Overwatch. This must mean something”, Jack said. He approached Gabe, and for once there was no bitterness in him, just hope beyond hope. He looked more alive than McCree had ever seen him, and some of the light sparkling from him affected Gabe, too. He lifted a hand a ran his claws on Jack’s cheek. All at once, it seemed they were alone in that chaos, and without realizing it McCree leaned closer to Hanzo, who stood still, cold, serious and focused.

“If only I could show you how much it means… but Hillridge was right. Who will listen to us? We are nothing but rogues, and without a name to support us…”

“We have one”, Hanzo said out of the blue. He gently slipped from McCree’s grip with one last caress on the back of his hand and stepped forward.

“Honey, what are you…”

“Listen to me”, he said again, brows knitted and big dark eyes deep and serious. “We have a name. _I_ have a name – and Genji, too. But I’m considered lost, not dead, and being a Shimada still means something out there…”

Everyone was looking at him, and the room fell quiet again.

“I have money. Lawyers, a name still respected and feared, and for the first time ever I’m determined to make the most out of it. The moment I’ll step forward and reclaim my role in my family’s business, the press will be all over me. And they will know everything about Dreschner and Hillridge”, he growled, clenching his fists.

Genji slid from the cot and took his arm, pale and upset.

“Brother, can’t you see this is madness? You’re a mutant, and now it’s in plain sight for everyone! You can’t hide it anymore, it’s…”

“I know. Maybe I’m deadly sick of lies and deceit – and if this is my ultimate chance to deserve forgiveness, then let it be. I’m not afraid”.

And in that exact moment, looking at the austere man standing in the middle of a bunch of mutants, with his black hair loose on his shoulders and his blue wings folded on his back, McCree understood. Oh, he loved him, he’d known it for weeks, but only now he realized Hanzo was someone who could change the world.

_And may I be damned, I’ll be with him until the end of the line._

“Genji, you’re a Shimada, too. It’s time you take back what is yours by birthright and by conquest”, Hanzo said softly, eyes locked with his brother. Genji gaped for a second and let out a nervous giggle.

“I’m afraid I’m a little bit too dead for this, people are not kind to zombies and such, and…”

“No, you’re alive, you’re a mutant and my brother. And whatever is left of our father’s legacy, it’s ours to share”.

The silence stretched and twisted around them, and McCree wished he could be in Hanzo’s head to see what was going on and to reassure him – _Yer brave, my beautiful dragon, and ruthless, and I’ll never love another man again._

The world turned into a small thing, burning in the proud look the brothers shared. There were tears in Genji’s eyes, but the furious angle of his jaw mirrored Hanzo’s. They were of the same blood, and it showed.

Genji took one step back, leaving Hanzo briefly baffled, but then he nodded and bowed, hands clasped in front of his chest. For a second, Hanzo’s shoulders trembled with relief, and then he acknowledged his brother’s acceptance with a curt gesture of his head. When he turned to stare at Gabe and Jack, though, McCree saw that his hands were still clenched, and he desperately wanted to take him in his arms.

“I need to make a couple of phone calls. Give me two hours and…”

“Hey, hey – Hanzo, not so fast”, Gabe said, holding his hand out. “Do you realize this will throw you to the wolves, right? Think twice before you speak to anyone”.

“I thought it well enough, Reaper, I assure you. Alan Goldberg is still a senator, and he has power – a power I’m determined to exploit”.

A new kind of tension sizzled through everyone, and McCree shivered and joined Hanzo before his brain could interfere.

“Whatever, man, I’m with him. Hanzo could ask me to die for him and I would, if all he needs is someone to scare the press off I’ll consider myself lucky”, and he took Hanzo’s hand. The contracted fist melted under his fingers, and he wished they were alone.

“Gabe, it’s a good plan, probably better than ours to rescue Angela. And if that one worked, I can’t see why this should not”, Jack ruffled his hair. “But this means we’ll all be in danger, afterwards…”

“I know”, was the low reply. “And maybe I can…” Gabe shuddered and looked around. “Nevermind, it’s too early. Get some rest, folks: we gained ourselves some time to think this through”.

Angela opened her mouth to protest and to point out there was a lot of things to do, but Winston put his paw on her shoulder and prevented her outburst.

“Sleep, everyone. By night, we’ll talk again”, he said.

McCree was the first to react, overly enthusiast at the idea of unplugging from the world for a couple of hours; he pulled Hanzo in his arms and let out a long breath, caressing the other’s hair.

“Who could’ve guessed I’d have found myself a hero as a boyfriend?” he whispered, and Hanzo sunk his fingers into his back in a desperate embrace.

One by one everyone left, but for Lena, Sombra and miss Bishop. Eventually, even Hanzo pulled back and looked up with a tired smile.

“I’d like to sleep indeed”, he admitted, but when McCree tried to sweep him off his feet he snarled. “Please. Don’t”.

“Mph. You’re as romantic as a brick”, but his grin betrayed him. As they walked back to his room, the nearest one, McCree saw a movement at the bottom of the corridor. He didn’t mean to spy on them, but his senses were still too alert, and Gabe’s voice reached his ears.

“Jack, what I said in the lab… I meant it”, he was whispering, standing inches from Jack under the flickering lights.

“Oh, really? I was pretty busy down there, I must have missed it…”

“I thought you still had a crush on me, and here you are, breaking this poor man’s heart!”

“No but come on, say it again, bear with an old soldier with a case of bad memory”.

Jack was laughing under his breath, and Gabe leaned closer.

“You’re a brat”.

“But I’m _your_ brat…”

McCree closed his eyes and cleared his throat to cover the unequivocal sound of a fiery kiss, filled to the brim with long months of longing and misunderstanding.

A sweet melancholy invaded him. His family was back together just in time to disband once and for all – because Gabe was right, Overwatch held no place in the limelight.

Hanzo opened the door with his shoulder and dragged McCree in.

“Woah there, darlin’! Where did ya find all that energy?”

“Mph. Don’t make too much out of it, Jesse – I think I really meant it when I said ‘sleep’…”

McCree turned him around and unzipped his suit; the seams had left a cobweb of lines on Hanzo’s skin, and it took him some effort to peel the Kevlar off him.

“Don’t overestimate me”, he grinned, pressing a chaste kiss to the other’s shoulder, where his wings began. Hanzo chuckled and turned in his arms, reciprocating the gesture and helping him strip.

They were both dirty, sweaty and covered in blood – and McCree didn’t give a single damn. He kicked his boots away and, in his underwear, picked Hanzo up and carried him to his bed.

They bounced on the mattress and curled up under the covers. The world outside their base was about to turn upside down, but they’d both deserved this moment.

Words were unnecessary right now, and McCree simply enjoyed the pleasure of running his fingers on Hanzo’s back, learning again and again the feeling of his skin under his palms. With a deep sigh Hanzo splayed his palms on McCree’s chest and closed his eyes, and after a while McCree thought he’d fallen asleep.

But then Hanzo spoke, his voice low and sad.

“I’m scared”, he said, pressing his forehead to McCree’s shoulder.

“Then we’re scared together. And we’ll fight together, and win together, and if you’ll have me, we’ll wake up together after this battle is done”. He took Hanzo’s chin in his fingers and gently pulled his face up until he opened his eyes and stared into his own.

“Promise it”.

McCree licked his own lips and bent his neck to kiss him. A sweet touch at first, then, as Hanzo opened his mouth and searched for his tongue, a brand of fire and blood that marked them both. He balled Hanzo’s hair in his fist and drowned into the kiss, even if exhaustion was quickly crawling upon him, and when he broke away his lips still lingered so close he could feel Hanzo’s warmth.

“I swear it. On all that is good and just in this world, on my love for you, I swear that you’ll never be alone anymore”.

“It won’t be easy…”

“Easy is boring”.

At this, Hanzo chuckled softly and relaxed a bit. His eyes were once again fluttering closed, but he graced McCree with one last smile.

“I love you, Jesse”, and no matter if his words distorted into a yawn, McCree held them to his heart like the most powerful of charms.

Soon, sleep came for him too, but not before he let himself look at Hanzo’s relaxed, blood-stained face.

Together. Until the war was won.

 

_˜˜˜˜˜_

 

Alan Goldberg didn’t always love his job. It was often a dirty business, with bitten off truths and gears oiled with favors and promises he had to keep. Most of his colleagues were the exact kind of people he would have liked to punch in the face on a daily basis, but sometimes politics had its perks.

Money, mostly, and nights like this.

His belt felt more than a bit tight under his bulging stomach, and as the maître reverently opened the back door for him he looked forward to the privacy of his car.

“Always a pleasure, senator”, said the man, his hand covered in a white glove splayed on the wooden door. His smile, under the thin black mustache, was that of a cat who’d licked the cream – and to be honest, Goldberg’s tips were generous enough to make even the grumpiest of employees smile.

“The lobster was even better than usual, and I’ll make sure to order that Italian white wine again next time – it was delicious”.

The maître bowed in appreciation, and Goldberg held himself to the short balustrade leading down the four steps and to the dark back alley.

His two bodyguards were, as expected, waiting for him by the blue limousine sparkling with moisture under the orange streetlights. Goldberg didn’t spare the two huge men in black suits and sunglasses – even at night, and it never ceased to make him roll his eyes – standing some twenty feet from him. He smacked his lips, tasting the last of the coffee on his tongue, and slowly walked his way to the service car.

Yes, he thought, after all it was a good life. Rich, powerful, with a secured position and no concerns about his future. Shaking all those greasy hands in his life had been a good idea.

The distant chaos of San Angeles, with its cacophony of sirens and traffic, accompanied his short walk; he didn’t even look up, busy searching for his phone in his pockets.

The sudden loud thump from the car, though, shot through his brain and caught his attention.

Goldberg’s eyes went wide as he watched the second of his men crumple to the floor without so much as a moan; his companion was already a black mass on the asphalt, sunglasses askew and a soft snore coming from his open mouth.

“What the hell is…”

His blood froze in his veins as he stopped dead and searched the alley. Empty, for all he could see, but his hands started to sweat and shake as he looked for the tell-tale red dot of a laser pointer on his chest.

An attack. Was it really happening to him? He couldn’t believe it, this sort of things didn’t concern those like him – he was not such a problematic or controversial public figure. Not him!

But there was no trace of red lights on his white button-up, apparently no snipers on the roofs. His breath caught in his throat as panic invaded him, his gaze running wild all around him.

Cold crept up his ankles and Goldberg, panting, looked down. Black fingers of mist were slithering around his feet, a thick cloud of black now drowning the slumped shapes of the bodyguards and, apparently, the sounds of the city.

He backed away – to the restaurant, yes, that was a good choice, it was the safest place around – but his shoulders hit a wall that he was sure wasn’t there a minute ago.

And the wall _snarled_. He turned around and found himself face to face – more like face to chest – with a tall man. Under the brim of a black hat, that creature's eyes reflected the light like those of a cat, and the quick grin that spread in his bushy beard flashed a set of white fangs. Goldberg staggered and walked away, only to bump into another figure.

A pale face, icy eyes shining among the scars; when he noticed the massive rifle in the stranger’s hands, Goldberg let out a whine.

Sweat started to trail down his cheeks and jowls.

There were more. A slender, bald figure surrounded by a feeble purple halo, and the mists twisted and rose into a cloaked figure; the face of a skull, and he knew he was doomed.

“What… what do you want?” he muttered in a hoarse whisper. “Is it money? You want money? Here… l-let me…”

He fumbled for his wallet, but he knew it was pointless.

And then the shadows moved. From the darkness behind the four strangers, a deep voice rumbled low in the alley.

“Alan Goldberg. Long time no see”.

Goldberg wiped his forehead with his hand and squinted.

“Who are…”

“I think you know the answer”.

Footsteps echoed in the silence, and an angular face appeared as if from nothing.

Neatly trimmed black beard, cold dark eyes, long hair falling loosely on a tailored suit and immaculate white shirt – Goldberg whimpered and shook his head.

“ _Hanzo_? Hanzo Shimada, is… is that you?”

“I’m glad to see you thriving, senator. I’ve been quite busy the last few years”.

He was gone. Goldberg knew the Shimada kid was gone years ago, a mystery no one had ever managed to solve. But no, he was here, impeccably dressed and with a sharp grin on his lips. One more step forward, and a second face shone at his side.

“Genji! You too… but what is this… oh!”

The moment Hanzo walked under the streetlights, Goldberg choked on his words. Were those _wings_ protruding from his shoulders? His lips tingled, a drop of sweat ran down his back and into his underwear.

“What… are you?” he hissed.

Hanzo’s polite expression hardened instantly, and Goldberg hunched his shoulders.

“I am what you see. What I’ve always been, even if you must give me credit for being quite skilled in hiding it”. He reached Goldberg and stopped a few feet from him, head tilted to the side. “You see, senator, I’m done with lies”.

“I don’t understand… you’re a _mutant_! And you, Genji, you… you were missing, your father…”

“Don’t speak about him”, the youngest Shimada snapped, narrowing his eyes. Goldberg shrunk back, but now that the boy was so near he could see something wrong on his face. Scars, ugly and stretching across his cheeks and down his neck.

Nausea swelled in his stomach. He shouldn’t have had that much lobster.

“What do you want from me? Is this a kidnapping?”

“No”, Hanzo said matter-of-factly. “This is business”.

Goldberg shot a terrified gaze all around him. The four mutants were still around him, but even if he could see more weapons hanging from their belts none seemed to be pointing at him.

“I don’t get it”, he whined.

Hanzo slid a hand inside his jacket and produced a file of papers. Goldberg inwardly complimented himself for not running away the moment he approached him.

“Remember our last call? I don’t expect you do, it’s been almost three years, and your schedule must be tight as usual”.

“Our call…”

He forced his memory to cooperate – yes, he vaguely remembered calling Hanzo in vain, less than two weeks before his disappearance.

“Yes! I do!” he said, ridiculously relieved for his ready answer. This surely would make his situation better, right?

Hanzo nodded and stared down at the papers.

“You had some issues with mutants gone missing. Some journalists were eager to investigate, but if I recall correctly nothing came out of it, am I right?”

“Yes”, he said again. A sparkle of understanding burned deep inside him, but right now he wasn’t inclined to pay it much attention.

“You also suggested, later, to have Genji undergo the Registration test, and I thought it was a good idea. It turned out it wasn’t, as you can see from my brother’s scars”.

Blood left Goldberg’s face.

“… this is madness…”

“No, old man, wanna know what madness is?” Genji hissed. He slid two fingers underneath the knot of his tie and pulled it down, opening the two top buttons to reveal a hideous scar running down his chest. “I’ve been tortured and sliced open like some lab rat, and all because of a couple of corrupt functionaries all too eager to do their job!”

“As my brother accurately showed you, the Registration Act was a façade to mask a secret para-governative operation. Those mutants were used as Guinea pigs for a research, both medical and military, and I’m pretty sure the government had no idea of what was happening behind the lab’s doors”.

More sweat trickled down Goldberg’s nose and beaded on his upper lip.

“D-Do you realize it’s quite a lot to take in, right?”

“I do. _We_ do, actually, and I trust – seeing your reaction now – you had no idea about this all”.

“Of course not! I still have no clue who was involved into…”

“Colonel Hillridge”, growled the blue-eyed man behind him. Goldberg turned sharply to face him, but saw no emotions on the stranger’s face. “The leader of the soldier enhancement programme”.

“B-But that was an institutional operation, everyone knew about it! Didn’t bring any useful results and cost more than it was worth, but…”

“She worked with dr. Dreschner. They shared their samples”, Genji said, cold.

“To put it simply, if a mutant’s powers were considered useful enough, and if there was no family behind them to worry about their fate, the Registration Act provided they conveniently disappeared. Tests were run on them, and very few made it out alive”, Hanzo explained as if it was just business indeed. “My brother can testify about the treatment mutants received”.

Brushing his sleeve on his face Goldberg shook his head again.

“You mean… when they took you in for the test, they were going to…”

“Kill me”, Genji cut him short. His green hair matched the scales shining on his collarbones and wings.

Goldberg was starting to feel faint. Too much wine, too much trauma all in the same night, and he was not a young man anymore. His heart fluttered in his chest and he started to worry he would throw up here and now.

“This is… quite the scandal, but without proof of what…”

Hanzo handed him the papers with a frown.

“I reckon the police hasn’t started investigating a series of shootings in an abandoned building early this morning. Here you’ll find all the details, with signatures and data”. He crossed his arms over his chest, and the seams of his elegant suit stretched. “I suggest you start working on this as soon as you get home”.

Goldberg took the papers with shaky fingers and quickly scanned them. The moment his eyes met the first set of numbers, he realized he was able to think clear again; he blinked and saw that the halo around the lanky guy was now a dull gold.

“Those come straight from dr. Dreschner’s safe”, Hanzo clarified, and Goldberg winced and went back to reading.

Words and data ran under his eyes and carved into his brain.

Altered authorizations, hired mercenaries as armed forces, a great list of names and mutations and tests.

He ogled and looked back at Hanzo; San Angeles’ night was warm, but he was shivering as if from a fever.

“Are you sure?” he whispered, and Hanzo nodded, a bit sad.

“We’ve been there. We’ve seen everything and can point the cops to the labs”, Genji added.

“Who’s _we_?”

“Overwatch”, the mutant with the face of Death growled. “And you need to know nothing more”.

Hanzo pulled at the cuffs of his shirt and brushed some invisible dust from its lapels.

“Soon I’ll step back into my place in the Shimada industries, senator, and my brother with me. There will be a great deal of chaos around us – I was lost, he was dead, we are mutants and the company needs guidance again. I won’t hold anything back about the Registration Act: you asked for my family’s intervention, and here we are”. He glared at Goldberg, and those sharp cheekbones and shining eyes nailed him into place. “You _will_ help us”.

“This is a bomb, my boy, an actual bomb – there will be riots in the streets, and the mutants’ rights associations will be at my throat, and…”

“They won’t, if you’ll stand as a speaker for our cause. Something I trust you’ll do”.

Goldberg stared at the papers again. They were burning in his hands, in his brain, and the enormous implications of the scandal made his head spin.

“You’re not here to kill me, then”.

“We’re not monsters nor criminals”. Hanzo patted his shoulder with a bit more strength than necessary. “And your men will be on their feet the moment we leave, unharmed”.

“They won’t remember”, said the tall kid with an eerie, sweet voice.

“But _you_ will”. Hanzo dropped his hand and stepped back. Under the artificial lights, his face was a puzzle of shadows, his wings those of a creature from an ancient cathedral.

The black smoke throbbed and swelled, and soon Goldberg, clutching the papers to his chest, found himself blind in the total darkness.

When the supernatural mist cleared, his guards were stumbling on their feet, muttering confused apologies that Goldberg didn’t listen to.

They were gone. The Shimadas, their obscure comrades.

Gone.

But the papers in his hands were still there.

Alan Goldberg let out a shuddering breath.

“This is some tough shit”, he said to the darkness before their bodyguard escorted him to his car.

 

 

_˜˜˜˜˜_

 

The concrete platform jutting from Overwatch’s base was an endless slab of gray and cracks under the night sky.

Hanzo flapped his wings one last time and landed without a sound, taking two steps to the side and exhaling a deep breath held for too long. He sat on the edge, feet dangling down the precipice, and took his jacket off. Again, slipping his wings from the carefully cut holes on its back – courtesy of Lúcio’s skills at sewing skin and flesh and, apparently, fabric too – required him some effort; he let it crumple behind him, undid his tie and sighed in relief.

Genji joined him after a minute, his slender silhouette gliding in circles and descending lower without moving his long wings. The wind from his elegant landing ruffled Hanzo’s hair, and it was a matter of seconds before his brother was sitting at his side.

They didn’t speak for a while, and Hanzo rolled the sleeves of his button-down up to his elbows, uncovering the fine pattern of scales on his left arm.

Genji crossed his legs and perched his elbows on his knees, his chin resting on his fist.

The calm before the storm, and Hanzo, dizzy from days of fighting and tension, chuckled.

He was glad he got to spend this moment with his brother.

“You kicked his ass”, Genji said without looking at him.

“We’ll see how willing to cooperate Alan is, but I think he won’t hold back”.

“We scared him enough to spur him into action, didn’t we? I mean, you did the talking, but…”

“… but he saw you coming back from the dead, and I guess this is what scared him the most”. He glanced at Genji sideways and bumped him with his shoulder. “You did great”.

“Yeah, maybe. I…”

He fell silent again, his arms falling limp in his lap. Hanzo frowned and leaned closer.

“Hey, are you alright?”

“I don’t know… I’m scared, I think”.

“What did you tell me before we attacked? It means you’re not dumb. It’s a good thing, all in all”.

“No, I mean… look at this”, and he gestured to the vast landscape of San Angeles and its outskirts with his hand. “It’s all new to me. I was a child the last time I went out and bought an ice cream for myself. All I’ve ever known since then were the Shimada tower and Overwatch’s base, and now…” He shivered and hunched his shoulders. “It’s all too big”.

Hanzo extended his arm and slung it on Genji’s back, rubbing his shoulder.

“But you won’t be alone, I promise. Call me presumptuous, but I like to think our father would be proud of us”.

Genji sighed and tilted his head to give Hanzo a small, melancholic smile.

“I miss him, you know? I wish I could yell at him how wrong his actions were, but at the same time now I see why he did what he did. He loved us”.

Hanzo swallowed the knot of nostalgia in his throat. For his childhood, for the innocence he’d lost, for all he’d left behind. Most of all, for his past self – a whole, intact version of himself, shattered and broken by life and then forged again into a new, different and stronger shape.

“I miss him too”, he whispered, caressing Genji’s soft hair.

The door hidden in the rocky wall behind them hissed open, and Hanzo didn’t even have to turn to recognize the footsteps on the concrete.

In a matter of seconds, McCree heavily sat by his side, and Zenyatta did the same at Genji’s right.

With a smile, Hanzo took McCree’s hand, caressing the long fingers and feeling his skin warm at the contact with that large palm. McCree kissed his temple and sighed in silence.

Thin trickles of well-known black smoke fell from the platform, and Jack, behind them, cleared his throat.

“So it begins”, he said. Genji squared his shoulders and peeked at him from the corner of his eye.

“War never seems to end, right? Have you thought about what you’re going to do?”

“He hasn’t”, Gabe said with a bit of sarcasm. “We’re talking about the same Jack Morrison who can’t decide if he wants pizza or tacos for dinner…”

Jack grinned and rubbed the back of his neck.

“Not yet, actually – I haven’t been a normal person for such a long time I can’t even remember how this kind of things works. And I suppose we’ll have to face some serious charges, too…”

Hanzo closed his eyes.

“As I’ve told you already, you can count on my family’s household. There’s plenty of space for anyone”.

“Winston has an estate of his own, while Lena is going home with miss Bishop, she needs somewhere safe to heal, and she can’t be accused of anything we did. Same for Lúcio and Angela, and it would be great if they could stay at your place, Hanzo”, said Gabe, thoughtfully.

“Of course, I have no intentions of leaving any of you behind”, and he squeezed Jesse’s hand with intention. This made McCree’s eyes glimmer with emotion, and Hanzo had to look away to resist the temptation of a kiss. “And as Jack correctly said, we’ll have some legal issues the Shimadas can take care of. I won’t say it will be easy, but with some effort we could…”

“There’ll be no need for such things”, Gabe interrupted him, and now he sounded so serious the whole group turned to him.

“Excuse you?” McCree said, arching his eyebrows.

“You -  all of you – won’t have to face any charge _. I_ will”.

A shocked silence fell on the group. Jack was the first to rouse, with a broken, angry voice.

“No fucking way, Gabe”, he growled. “Don’t play the martyr”.

“Why not? I – er – I’ve already instructed Sombra, she hacked the security cameras and deleted any trace of your presence. It will look like I did it all…”

“You can’t take all the blame!” McCree boomed, standing up and facing Gabe with wounded eyes. “I won’t let ya do somethin’ that stupid!”

“Why not, kid?” he asked in the patient tone of a parent. “Do you think there’s anything for me out there? I’m a wanted man, and someone has to be responsible for the death of some thirty people in that lab. Sombra’s done already, and no amount of bickering will change that…”

Hanzo opened his mouth in stunned wonder. Under the shock, his brain worked at maximum speed: could it work for real? They wouldn’t be safe from some backlash, but nothing as serious as mass murder. Something Hanzo could take care of.

And yet it was painful.

“Gabe… you can’t do this. You can’t leave us again”, Jack said, stalking forward and snatching Gabe by the front of his cloak. “You can’t leave _me_ again!”

A crooked smile tilted Reaper’s mouth. He took Jack’s chin in his fingers and pulled him closer.

“You’re being overdramatic, Prince Charming. Do you really think I’ll vanish here and now in a puff of smoke? Well, I could, actually, but…” He gently knocked their foreheads together and grinned. “I’ll always know where to find you. You’re not getting rid of me so easily”.

“I don’t like it”, McCree said, pouting. “It’s not fair!”

“Flash news: nothing in this world is fair. You just get to make the most out of your days, and this is my gift to you, Jesse. Not a farewell one, mind you”, and he winked.

Jack let go of his stern exterior and wrapped his arms around Gabe’s waist.

At this, Hanzo closed his eyes and looked away, his hand searching for McCree’s and pulling him back.

 _They’re going to be alright_ , he thought with all his strength, and some of his words filtered through McCree’s fear of loss. He relaxed a bit, and when Hanzo peeked from under his lashes he saw him shake his head and reciprocate his grip.

“Promise you won’t disappear again”, Genji said, his voice a bit unsteady. Good for him Zenyatta was holding him close, one slender arm around his shoulders and those wise eyes smiling in silence. “I still owe you my life…”

“You bunch of brats, I’m not leaving right now!” he said from over Jack’s shoulder, and maybe Hanzo was just imagining things, but the tip of his nose seemed a bit redder than usual. “We’ll have time for a proper goodbye – to me, and to Sombra and Amélie. My girls are coming along”.

Jack pulled back and sniffed, an unexpected sardonic smirk on his lips.

“Time until dawn, let’s say?”

And Gabe wiggled his eyebrows.

“I still remember where our room was…”

McCree choked a snort of laughter against his fist, badly disguising it with a fit of cough. Jack went pink and shoved Gabe before him toward the base; the sound of their affectionate bickering echoed for a while even after the door closed behind them.

Hanzo smiled. Such extreme action had been necessary to bring those two back together, and the consequences were yet to develop entirely. McCree took a deep breath and looked down to Hanzo, his eyes slightly brighter than before.

“Did you really mean it? Movin’ to your place?”

Only now he realized how meaningful his suggestion may have sounded – _no, wait, it_ is _meaningful, I won’t make it anything different than it is._

He put on his professional snarky face and cocked an eyebrow.

“I’ve told you already that wherever you’re going, I’ll follow. If that must be a long run in the desert than be it, but I thought you would like a roof over your head and…”

“… and you in my bed?” He closed the distance between them and closed his mouth with a kiss, too brief and chaste for Hanzo’s tastes. “In that case, count me in”.

Taken aback, Hanzo found a whole cohort of issues with his idea, and his stubborn mask faltered.

“If you want, that is. I’m not going to force you to do anything you don’t want, or even worse I don’t want you to feel obliged to accept, I… I just wanted to be with you, not to create some kind of debt between us, or…”

“Hanzo, it’s fine. I’d like to live with you”, and he brushed the tip of their noses together, his face suffused with the most loving light Hanzo had ever seen.

Genji and Zenyatta walked to them, interrupting their moment, and Hanzo tried to recollect himself. His ears felt painfully warm, and his brother didn’t let him get away with it.

“Look at you, _anija_. Who would’ve thought there was a gentle heart behind your bitch face?”

“If only it were a little bit more effective I’d threaten you to kick you off this slope”, he growled back; his attempt at peeling himself from McCree was invalidated by a hug stronger than before, and he resigned himself to just turn around in his arms and shot his brother a killer glare. His grudge melted at the sight of Genji’s eyes – so like his own – crinkling with tenderness as he wove his fingers in Zenyatta’s.

They were farther down the road of their relationship, but what burned in his heart any time McCree looked at him held a promise of love and hope that extended beyond the horizon of time.

“So what’s next?” Zenyatta asked, his breath ruffling Genji’s hair.

_What do we do now?_

Hanzo looked at San Angeles’ black skyline in the distance. A single star peeked from behind the clouds, a tiny glimmer of light in the infinite gray and orange canopy of the sky. McCree leaned his chin on Hanzo’s shoulder, and he could feel him smirk.

Genji and Zenyatta, too, turned to stare at the faraway city.

“We fight. We live”, he replied softly. He placed his hands on McCree’s and smiled.

_We love._

  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Hello again, my friends, and welcome to some necessary clarification about the tags. Spoilery spoilers ahead!
> 
>  
> 
> In no particular order:
> 
>  
> 
>  _Mention of cancer:_ Sojiro Shimada has cancer and eventually dies of it. It's never shown "on screen", but it's mentioned and it's plot relevant.  
>   
>  _Alcohol/Drugs_ : Genji starts with a (mild but rather graphic) addiction to drugs from which he later recovers, and Hanzo follows his footsteps after their quarrel. McCree gets badly drunk on one occasion.  
>   
>  _Mental health issues:_ pick one, literally everyone has some kind of issue - PTSD being the most frequent one.  
>   
>  _Body horror:_ there's gore ahead.  
>   
>  _Self-harm:_ this is rather specific; from the first chapter, Hanzo, a closeted mutant, mutilates his own wings to hide his true nature. Again, it's graphic.  
>   
>  _Suicide attempt:_ see above, Hanzo loses everything at the beginning, and kind-of-but-not-really tries to kill himself. He'll be recovering though.  
>   
>  _Suicide:_ yup, someone actually commits suicide, but it's one of the bad guys. 
> 
> As you can see from the notes, McCree is a mutant, a werewolf-ish kind of mutant, definitely on the monstrous side of the trope. He's extremely unhappy with his condition, but literally no one in the team ever holds it against him, because he's well loved and cared for. Turns out, there's nothing to be unhappy about, but he doesn't know yet.
> 
> Please note that this story is set in a future where mutants are heavily discriminated against. Every single character (except for maybe Lucio, Lena, and Winston) is far from innocent, one way or another: they lie, manipulate, murder, they all use violence to achieve their goals - it's basically 50 Shades of Grey Morality, but for very good reasons.
> 
>  
> 
> The two villains are the exception. They're assholes, but I think they sort of fall into the "grey" category too, even if in am ore problematic way: they honestly believe their horrible deeds serve a good purpose, but they completely lack empathy. 
> 
> There are four OCs in this story, two of them being such villains; the story was written before Moira's release, and I briefly considered having her fill the role - but some things are too much even for her questionable morals. The third OC is a politician, the fourth is a surprise :3
> 
> Despite this all, there's a happy ending, and I promise none of the canon characters dies. It takes a while, but things are going to be alright for everyone.
> 
> If after this explanation you're still in for a read, enjoy!
> 
> And if you've read the whole story already, thank you for your patience and dedication! See you on [tumblr](http://valpur.tumblr.com/), folks!


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